


Blood Song

by AnonGrimm



Series: Equilibrium: of Cruelty and Pain (Sabretooth) [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Sabretooth - Fandom, Victor Creed - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: "Foul" Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual sweet hetero sex and homosexual sex - whaaat? Wild I know..., Dom/sub Play, Dubious Consent, Extreme Versions of Self-Harm, F/M, Felching, Female Homosexuality (Implied), Foot/Heels fetish, Geez it's Victor - I should list what isn't in this thing, Graphic Sex, Heterosexual Sex, Homophobic Language, Hunters & Hunting, Hunting people as prey, Hurt/Comfort, I'm serious about the gore, IronTooth - Freeform, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Misogyny, Necrophilia, Obsession, Oral Sex, Past Mind Rape, Pegging, Prostitution, Rape Roleplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sexism, Stalking, Torture, Transphobia, Violent Sex, Whipping, abuse of a corpse, extreme violence, rough anal sex, transphobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5872882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonGrimm/pseuds/AnonGrimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sabretooth heads to Chicago for a distraction. He wants to hunt and kill in the streets before visiting his favorite brothel – an all-mutant establishment run by an old friend. In seeking to escape recent failures and his worsening brutal nightmares, he is plagued instead by his ghosts. Temptations and cruel fantasies overwhelm him as he tries to find a way to reclaim what he lost, while the lure of a last resort that could threaten his life becomes harder to ignore. Desperate to avoid that option, he seeks to pursue a new obsession in the form of … Tony Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this story anywhere without the author’s permission. Thanks. Feedback and constructive critiques are welcome, too. Just comment, email me at anongrimm@msn.com or tweet: @MET_Fic
> 
> Sabretooth is a gleeful villain and I don’t plan to redeem him here; if you like evil main characters, enjoy! If not, you might want to re-read the tags...
> 
> TIMELINE: This story occurs after the Sabretooth limited series, "Mary Shelley Overdrive", and after the events in my "Overdrive", and "Redemption" tales ("The Hunt: Three Our Fathers" happens during the last section of "Redemption"). This is part 4 of my series, "Equilibrium: Of Cruelty and Pain". My Sabretooth is based on the blonde mutant from the comicverse. Tony Stark joins us all the way from the movieverse, but this story is occurring in late September 2003, so I’m ignoring the fact that post-Iron Man movie 1 Tony comes from 2008.
> 
> My Sabretooth is inspired by the version of him when they draw him sexy and write him as an intelligent, though brutal, character. Rather than make this note as long as the story, you can get more details at my personal fanfic blog: mindseyetheatre.net or look up Sabretooth on the Marvel Comics wikis and databases. Thanks to the input from CanuckleheadCowgirl, I am dubbing my Sabretooth/Iron Man ship: IronTooth! This will be the most often pairing in my Sabretooth series. I tried to find some stories with these two, and it doesn't appear to exist? I find that weird, as it really works astonishingly well. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

I’m diggin’ my way  
Yes, I’m diggin’ my way to somethin’  
I’m diggin’ my way to somethin’ better

I’m pushin’ to stay  
Yes, I’m pushin’ to stay with somethin’  
I’m pushin’ to stay with something better

I’m sowin’ the seeds, yes  
Yes, I’m sowin’ the seeds I’ve taken  
Sowin’ the seeds I take for granted

This thorn in my side  
Yes, this thorn in my side is from the tree  
This thorn in my side is from the tree I’ve planted  
It tears me and I bleed … and I bleed

I am the beast that feeds the beast  
I am the blood, I am release  
Come make me pure, bleed me a cure  
I’m caught, I’m caught, I’m caught under

Caught under wheel’s roll  
I take the leech, I’m bleeding me  
Can’t stop to save my soul  
I take the leash that’s leading me  
I’m bleeding me ... oh, I can’t take it  
I can’t take it, I can’t take it  
Oh, oh the bleeding of me

~ Bleeding Me (Metallica)

*****************************************************************

Chicago seemed devoid of any predators quite like him; the city was glutted with game and there was almost nothing to keep the numbers down, until now.

Victor crouched and bristled, hackles stiff as his growl filled the air with the fear stench of the prey. Long and tightly braided, his blonde hair hung from his nude body, as streaked red and stiff with blood as the rest of his fur.

Before him, three young males held their ground with chains, blades, and a pipe to protect them. Behind him, their prey had fallen against a concrete wall of the abandoned warehouse.

“What the hell is it?”

“That has to be a fucking mutie. Check out all that blood…”

“It’s packing after all, man – look at that fucking monster dick! That’s a damn cartoon.”

“Hey, mutie,” the first one spoke again, “you want to fuck that creepy faggot with that creepy dick?”

The second one began to back up. “You guys want to take that on? Those … claws, teeth… Count me out…”

Victor hissed and jumped. His large hands grabbed the heads of the ones who were still standing there. Five three-inch Adamantium claws each stabbed into their skulls. He leapt over them where they had dropped, twitching, and pounced on the last one before it had the chance to run more than a few feet. It was the smallest, but still far stronger than the prey they had been beating bloody.

“Oh shit, please no!”

Victor dropped his jaw and set the teeth at the temples on either side of the face. The scream was cut away seconds before the face was sheared off of the head in two irregular hunks of flesh and skull.

With a snarl, he let the pieces fall from his mouth and began to cut into the torso through the clothes. He carved out what he wanted and began to eat as a fierce hunger thrashed in his belly. Beyond his prey, the last living thing in the place tried to move, attempting and failing to be quiet. Focused on the meat, he ignored it.

Taking all he wanted from the first, he moved to the next, cutting loose the rich organs and consuming them. The last one was the biggest. After leaving the torso a bloody half-empty shell, he used claws to tear the denim away from the thick thighs. Snarling again at another sound behind him, he opened his jaw. As he bent low over the prey and bit saliva-coated fangs into the meat, the wounded witness choked and threw up.

His fangs and bite force easily crushed the heavy femur to suck at the marrow inside. Soon, both of the thighs were hollowed out and consumed.

Victor pivoted in his crouch to face the witness, seeing a person in a rumpled dress and blonde wig who looked very much like a female but smelled like a male. On knees and staring at him in horror, the face was bloody, the nose possibly broken, and one eye was beginning to swell and darken. Injuries that did not instantly heal on others fascinated him and he watched the flesh grow more swollen before he remembered that the stench of terror was because of him.

He settled on his knees and haunches, placing his hands, with bloody claws retracting, on his furry blood-smeared thighs. “Won’t harm ya,” he spoke in a rasping whisper. “If ya find that hard t’ process, I’ll understand. There’s a hospital not too far away – ya wanna go there?”

“I… Yes. You can talk.”

“Yup, but I sing like a toad. Unclench, darlin’. Can ya stand? Gonna get even more blood on that pretty frock if I hafta carry ya. How’d ya end up in here with tha three bears, Goldilocks?”

“They wanted … to rape me. Then they found out…”

“Figured.” Victor rose to his feet, leaned down, and offered a hand. “Come on. I should get back to my clothes, but it’s on the way.”

“You know – you don’t care?”

“Nope.” Victor smirked when his assistance was accepted. Steadying the pretty thing on her feet, he added, “I swing both ways, myself – most any way there is, if tha fancy strikes.”

“Do you normally go around rescuing people like me?”

“I ‘spose I’ve saved a few damsels, here an’ there. T’night yer just lucky – this meat caught my eye two blocks back an’ I was hungry ‘nuff t’ track ‘em in here.”

“So now you … aren’t hungry anymore – right?”

“Actually, I am,” Victor answered, but then gave her a wink. “Only way I’d eat tha likes o’ ya is if ya lemme buy ya coffee when yer feelin’ better, an’ we hit it off ‘nuff t’ go somewhere private.” The startled and uncomfortable expression that won him made him chuckle. “Just kiddin’. Better get yer freaked out looks in fast – way yer face is swellin’ up, won’t be able t’ soon ‘nuff. Gonna escort ya t’ tha ER an’ threaten ‘em t’ be nice t’ ya, an’ then I’ll go my merry way an’ get back t’ huntin’.”

“The ER… I can’t … afford that. I can just walk home, it isn’t far.”

“Ya need a doc, an’ that’s where yer goin’.”

His damsel was silent, sure proof she had some brains. She followed him as he retraced his trail to his boots, clothes, and coat. Victor put the long black coat over her shoulders before he began to dress.

“It’ll drag on the ground…”

“Won’t matter none.” Not caring about what a mess he was, he pulled the clothes on, stomped into the boots, and straightened.

“This is all … very strange.”

“Don’t faint on me.”

“The Grateful Dead?”

Smirking, Victor touched the hem of his black t-shirt. It was covered with colorful stylized bears forming a conga line in a spiral under the band’s logo. “It counts as ironic whimsy, maybe? Good tunes.”

“Obviously, you’re a mutant. Who are you?”

“Ya can call me Victor.”

Before they left the building, Victor did pick her up and carry her. She passed out on the way to the hospital. He stayed in the ER and was there with the doctor when she was looked over.

“Sir?” the man asked. “Your … girlfriend … has…”

“A penis? Yeah, I did notice that. She’s still decidin’ whether or not t’ take tha plunge. Just make sure she gets ‘er pretty back, doc; tha rest ain’t yer prob. Stick with callin’ ‘er ‘she’, too – so’s I ain’t gotta come back here an’ give ya lessons in queer manners.”

“No problem.”

“I’m gonna call ‘er ma t’ come an’ get ‘er when she can be released. I wanna nurse watchin’ over ‘er nonstop t’night. We were mugged, it got bloody, an’ I need t’ make a statement t’ tha cops. Here,” he added, and handed the man a business card, “tha bills get sent there, got it? Tell ‘er it’s bein’ paid fer by ‘er grump o’ a boyfriend who said not t’ give ‘er ma no lip.”

“Yes, sir.”

Before he left, he checked the pocketbook inside her purse for a driver’s license and found an I.D. card, but no credit cards.

 _Less’n twenty bucks, too. So Goldilocks is_ _Frederick Williams, fer now._ Noting the address, he got into his own wallet and tucked a wad of presidents into hers, along with another of Obinata’s business cards. Tucking the purse back under her arm, he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead over the swollen eye. “Get well, Goldilocks.”

Retrieving his coat from a chair, he stopped for coffee and drank it as he walked out, ignoring the rumble of his stomach. In a city like this, that would be quickly resolved.

~ ~ ~

From inside the Loop, to along the shore of Lake Michigan, and back to the South Side, he left broken, slashed, and mutilated corpses in his wake. The cops would be stirred up like wasp nests soon enough. He had always ignored them; killing in different jurisdictions was more for entertainment than trying to avoid being caught.

They would find no fingerprints on his discarded prey – he’d worn his gloves since leaving the hospital. Any trace of body fur he might have left behind would only confuse them more, or finally tell them what they didn’t want to know: it wasn’t an escaped zoo animal slaughtering their sheep, or a human serial killer – it was a mutant apex predator that they simply had no way to fight or defend against.

Ready for the next ambush, he smirked over the horror he was leaving in his wake as he absently rubbed the slight distension of his stomach. The body count had gone so high and so fast that it was left to gamely try to digest and metabolize it all, and the skin there was hot to the touch. The healing factor was a furnace: burning, gathering, storing – readying his body for survival. Yet this hunt went beyond need – it was the bloodlust that sang in his veins now, and that hunger was rarely sated.

_Bet it hits tha international news by mornin’ – def gonna worsen human an’ mutant relations. Consider it a love letter, Cueball – signed with tha bloody claw on my middle finger._

The night wind whipped his hair into his face as he climbed down the framework under the L, just as a train on the Green Line rattled overhead. East 25th street on the South Side around him looked like a demilitarized zone, so he felt right at home.

Clinging to metal beams several feet off of the ground near the overpass, he heard opportunity heading his way in the form of three people running. They would pass right by him, capping off his hunt just right.

He let the first one pass by. It was older, wheezing, and running as fast as it could to get away from the younger pair. When they reached him, he roared and jumped.

The first, a blonde human male, was smashed down by his weight. His companion skidded to a stop on the sidewalk and looked back, his eyes going wide before he screamed obscenities and fled for his life.

Victor let the brunette run; a couple of eye-witnesses always got the best media explosion even if the high-risk group they belonged to would never be believed.

Stabbing his claws into the back of the blonde, he hauled the quivering and shrieking lump up to his face.

“Oh shit, oh God, no, no, no, take anything, man, please, whatcha want?”

With a grin spreading to show all of his pointed teeth, Victor pressed his prey to his chest and dragged it off into the weeds a little way back from the road.

He laid it down, bending its back so that the throat was exposed. Sniffing at it, he purred at the stench of its fear. He removed one hand’s claws from the back. Ripping the cotton hoodie and shirt to shreds, the claws poised over the heart.

“Still hungry,” he murmured, a growl rumbling up in his throat.

“I got money, please, please!”

“Yeah? So do I.”

He plunged the claws in fast, the Adamantium razors slicing the breastbone in seconds, allowing him to grab and tear free what he wanted. The human’s scream was sharp and short as the glistening organ was pulled free through the ruin of bone and meat. His other hand dropped the corpse, amber eyes watching the red muscle as it convulsed a precious few more beats.

Raising it up, Victor tilted his head back and squeezed the blood into his open mouth, heedless of the droplets that struck his face. Turning his head and biting into the pulp, his sharp carnassial teeth sheared it away in warm chunks until it was gone. He licked blood from the leather gloves on his fingers, before kneeling in the weeds and dirt to open the rest of the meat sack. He quickly selected and ate one by one the best morsels: thymus, pancreas, and liver.

Senses wallowing in the kill, he let the blood take him over. The more nutrient-rich organ meat he ingested, the stronger the healing factor became, until it finally felt replete.

He crouched there for some time after, listening to the wind and small night noises hidden underneath the din of thrumming tracks and the thunderous clatter of passing trains that made his ears pin down. The toes of his heavy boots dug into the hard-packed dirt under the vegetation, his body growing restless again so quickly.

Blood in his veins and in his swollen stomach were different harmonious notes to the hum of life, of survival. Yet the stomach was sated – so it was time to feed his other addiction. It was already building, fed by the blood on his hands, on his face, down his throat. The blood coursed and moved, and sharpened in his groin.

As he rose, the hem of his coat painted the pooling blood on the weeds and concrete into a wide smear. Leaving the remains of the kill, he loped away to his new goal, one of the reasons he had come here again. It was a place where he wouldn’t be hurried, harassed, or shot at, and the bounty of things he could fuck was unmatched.

_Wonder if Claudette still leaves a candle in tha window fer me?_

*****************************************************************

 **Author’s Note:** This story is part 4 of my series _Equilibrium: of Cruelty and Pain_. It is the sequel to _Redemption_ and _The Hunt: Three Our Fathers_. If you haven’t read parts 1 through 3, there are some spoilers in here. As one may imagine, Sabretooth on a heartbroken bender in a big city can be very violent and cruel. For a person who can’t really get drunk (and doesn’t see the point in trying because it would take a few truckloads of booze to get there) his escape drug of choice is sex, the hunt, blood, terror, and death – and sometimes he likes to mix and match those options to horrifying effect. He’s also being driven into the red zone by PTSD level nightmares that leave him coping with sleep deprivation. Therefore, this will be a rather bloody and violent story – like most of my Sabey tales, LOL.

In the canon Sabretooth limited series, _Mary Shelley Overdrive_ (Nov. 2002), a character named Bonnie Hale seduced Victor and ended up working her way into his obsessions. _Mary Shelley Overdrive_ is my favorite Sabey story and it influences my Sabey tales quite a bit, here and there. I highly recommend it as an excellent read. Also, my Sabey tales are often chock-full of spoilers about that story, so fair warning, if you haven’t read it yet. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm  (@MET_Fic)

*****************************************************************

 


	2. Changeling

You are a time bomb ticking away  
You need to release  
What you’re feeling inside  
Let out the beast  
That you’re trying to hide  
Step right up and be a part of the action  
Get your game face on  
Because it’s time to play  
You’re pushing and fighting your way  
You’re ripping it up

How do you live without playing the game  
Sit on the side and expect to keep sane  
Step right up and be a part of the action  
Come get a piece of it before it’s too late  
Take a look around  
You can’t deny what you see  
Were living in a violent society  
Well my brother let me show you a better way  
So get your game face on because it’s time to play  
You’re pushing and fighting your way you’re ripping it up

Bring the violence  
It’s significant  
To the life  
If you’ve ever known anyone  
Bring the violence  
It’s significant  
To the life  
Can you feel it?

~ Violence Fetish (Disturbed)

*****************************************************************

It changed every time he came to the corner of West 49th Street and South Ashland Avenue, in an area of the South Side called Back of the Yards. The current façade at 4858 South Ashland was an illusion like the others, but the scents of red brick and concrete were the same. He approached the rusted piece of tin that appeared to be leaning against a ruined and boarded up building, gutted by fire. Gripping it and tossing it to one side, he walked through the blasted brick wall beneath it and felt Madame Claudette-Thérèse de Beaumarchais’s illusion wash past him.

“Veektor! Oh, you ‘ave come back to us!”

The tall woman that approached him resembled a coiffed blonde Marie-Antoinette in a flawless peach-colored reproduction of a pre-Revolution French formal gown. The dizzying sculpture of her platinum hair was adorned with matching fresh peach roses. She clapped her hands and mutants of all types, genders, and talents appeared from all over the fine reception salon, ready to hear her instructions.

“Evenin’ Claudette.” She gave him her pale porcelain hands, and he used them to pull her up tight to his chest. Bending down to kiss her powdered cheek, he grinned at the bloody smear that mussed her flawless make-up.

“Are you back for good, for a while, or for zee night, Veektor?”

“Undecided, but fer tha night, yeah.” He let her go, amused that she wasn’t upset by the matching blood smears on the front of her gown. “Ya know why I’m here; where is he?”

“Busy, but free soon, and you cannot go upstairs as you are. A bath first, no? Girls!” She pointed to a few of the prettiest creatures there. “Run a bath for Monsieur Creed.”

She started to clap again, but Victor snatched her hands in one of his. Her charges stopped short, and some of the new ones were afraid for her – afraid of him.

“I want tha west suite like before, darlin’, an’ Morpheus can run my bath later.”

Claudette started to protest, until he bent again to nuzzle her neck below the white lace choker she wore. Letting his fangs scrape her flesh, his growl sounded, low and urgent. He paused, listening to the heart hammering with excitement within the perfectly voluptuous body.

Her flute-toned voice spoke softly, with a hunger of her own. “Oui, Veektor, jus’ a little – but carefully, mon cher…”

The growl came louder before he sank his teeth into the flushed skin, slow and easy. His tongue darted out to lick the little beads of blood, his free hand reaching to squeeze one of her magnificent breasts under its froth of white lace and peach bows.

She sighed, pressing into it, until he released her and stepped back. Brushing a wayward pale blonde curl behind her ear, she fanned herself with a fluttering hand. She didn’t fuss about the drips of blood staining the white lace around her throat below his bite, either.

“Mon Dieu… Zee west suite eez yours, of course; few can afford eet for more zan an ‘our, so no one eez zere tonight. Go ahead up eef you like, unless you want me to lead you zere?”

“I can find it, don’t worry. Ship ‘im up t’ me, Claudette, an’ don’t waste time washin’ ‘im first.” He walked through the path they scrambled to make for him and climbed the curving scarlet marble staircase.

When he got to the suite, he dismissed the serving girl. She closed the door behind her and left him to wait.

Victor passed the ornate furnishings without a glance and walked around the bed to the window side. He stripped off the bloody long black coat and draped it over the nightstand, stuffing the gory leather gloves in the pockets. Leaving his wallet in it, he fished out his phone and laid it on top of one of the few dry spots.

Crossing to the western windows, he stood over one of the deep padded window seats to look out at the city. For a heartbeat, the illusion of beautiful night gardens awash with unblemished blossoms outside held, and then the Madame downstairs dropped her witchery to reveal the hard, cold, and dirty world as it really was.

Smiling, he thought, _Thanks, Claudette._ _Nothin’ against ‘er roses, but t’night I’m in tha mood fer a li’l squalor. She’_ _s probly still irked that I don’t need ‘er_ _other talents no more_ _– oddly_ _‘nuff, thanks t’ tha runt_ _._

His fingertips rubbed at the stubble under his chin, where the X-Man had stabbed a claw straight up into his brain. Logan had wanted to stop him, after he’d threatened to kill every skirt and kid his enemy had ever cared about. Turned out, he’d only slowed him down. The wound and the brain injury healed eventually, and ever since, he no longer needed the glow – that old telepathic fix for a rampant and violent insanity that had been spiraling out of control.

The bloodlust remained, of course – the love of the hunt, the kill; yet Logan’s savagery had cloven the debilitating madness.

 _Those old demons still dance in my head, an’ tha dreams are all nightmares full o’ tha whisperin’ an’ cursin’ dead_ _, prowled though by worse monsters than me  – but awake, at least, my brain is_ _mine again. Cueball failed t’ cure me, but tha runt never lets me down. If I had a hat t’ tip t’ ya, fireplug, I would._

Behind him, the door opened, shut, and was locked almost without a sound.

“Claudette still loves you, I think.”

“‘Course she does; what’s makin’ ‘er drunk down there now, though – that ain’t love, boy, it’s lust, pure an’ simple. Got li’l use fer telepaths these days.”

“So I heard.”

Victor turned and studied the young mutant before him. His skin was changing from white to his natural dark gray. Breasts drew in to become pectorals, the hips less flared, but when the blonde hair turned shaggy and black and the birth form stood before him, Victor’s mouth twitched in a half-smirk.

“Who from?”

“Remy LeBeau – oh, years ago, now.”

Victor frowned. “He likes yer games? Had tha Cajun pegged as a skirt-sniffer.”

“Oh, I sincerely doubt if he’s particular, but yes … he was always fond of Angelique’s skirt – at least until he began chasing Rogue in earnest.”

“Can’t think o’ a more useless slit than that one.”

Morpheus smiled at his disdain. “I spoke to him in the parlor, and asked about you. He had a lot to say about how they had locked you up. How you’d been turned into a kitten by Wolverine’s claw through your brain, and then ran afoul of Psylocke when you healed and escaped.”

“They bit off more’n they could swallow, an’ choked.”

Victor watched the metamorph approach, his smooth and nearly hairless slender nudity a soft and androgynous thing, except for the hard length of his sex. It bobbed up and down slightly as he moved, as if eager for the games to come. The first time they’d met, Victor had suspected it was just appearances, for business – but the desire for him that surrounded the young Greek had always smelled genuine.

“What an interesting problem,” the boy mused, his black eyes dancing with merriment. “A problem I’ve never had. Claudette heard they cured Psylocke after you gutted her.”

“Good. Means I might could get tha chance t’ do it again, down tha road.”

“You’re not angry that someone you effectively killed didn’t stay that way?”

“Naw. X-chumps are like Weebles, ya can knock ‘em down, but they ain’t gonna stay down; I’m used t’ it. ‘Sides, they ain’t never kept me down fer long, neither, no matter how many o’ their mind-fuckers try t’ stick pins in me.”

The boy stopped in front of him, unafraid. “So it’s true – a well-placed claw left you not needing a pet telepath anymore. Poor Claudette.”

“Patience is a virtue – or so I’m told. Odds are, gonna hafta get my paws on ‘em mega-titties o’ ‘ers at some point before I leave town.”

The boy’s delicate hand lifted and cupped the swelling heat of Victor’s crotch. “I’m pleased you still need me. What do you want, Vic?”

“Ya know already – just do it.”

“Mmmm … my pleasure…” His hand left Victor’s straining erection to caress up the abdomen.

The stomach was flat again, the skin still warm. He had energy to burn and then some. Morph’s hand pressed against his chest. Reaching behind, he made a show of wincing and moaning as he slowly pulled a heavy and thick rubber butt plug out of his body. He tossed it onto the foot of the canopied bed and stepped back.

_We both know he don’t need that; he knows I like seein’ it pulled out, though. Damn, it’s good t’ be back._

Victor’s breath caught as the change began. Morpheus shrank from his natural five foot seven height to a stumpy five foot three. The body paled, grew hirsute, and widened into the stocky muscle of Wolverine. The face, framed by black mutton chop sideburns and topped by unruly black hair, split into a savage snarl showing long canine fangs. Snapping blue eyes gleamed up at him with feral hate.

The cock lengthened, grew thicker, the nest of dark hair growing and tangling at its base. With a loud ~snikt~, the pale fists erupted with the long Adamantium claws.

Victor’s throat rumbled, but he stood still as the claws, perfectly metallic and sharp, tore his bloody clothes from his body. Their tips cut and nicked his flesh as his hard and heaving abdominals began to gleam with sweat.

 _Let it build, let it dig in,_ he thought, coaxing the rabid bloodlust to change to rapacious hunger. _Can’t fight ‘im; this ain’t tha real thing._

Morpheus could take a lot of punishment, but Claudette always put a higher price on his services when Victor came calling, because her brothel’s favorite would often be out for days recuperating. The first time they’d played this game, Victor had almost killed the boy. A masochist to his ever-shifting core, Morpheus had always been willing to do it again.

“Come on, Creed,” the voice ground out. “Gonna kill ya slow.”

 _He’s perfect_ _… tha voice, tha hatred – an’ when he sinks those blades in, it’ll hurt like fuck, it’ll bleed. Oh, yeah_ _… yeah, gonna do it t’ ya, runt. Gonna make ya bleed, drop fer drop._

Sinking into a crouch, he sprang, towering over his enemy when they clashed in a whirl of snarls, gnashing fangs, and stabbing claws. Victor hooked an arm around him and took the impact of their fall, as well as keeping most of his weight from crushing the boy.

It was hard to remember in the red haze that clouded his mind that he had to pull his punches, knowing his Adamantium bones and claws were the only real metal in the fight. The boy’s scent helped – he couldn’t fake the runt’s thick feral musk.

He kept his fangs out of the metamorph’s flesh, but his claws eagerly cut shallow rents, the wounds just as eagerly received. The torn flesh healed instantly, but that was illusion, too.

Roaring out his rage, he found an opening and rolled his opponent to his back on the blood-spattered white marble floor. Falling over him, he used his brutal strength to rip the muscled legs open wide.

Levering himself between them, one hand on Logan’s chest, the other pulling his hips up, he shoved his straining cock inside the thrashing and growling body in the same instant that a trio of shining and bloody claws impaled his shoulder.

The heat of it, the tight invasion as his lust bruised and abraded, was almost too much to endure for long. When the blood came, finally lubricating his rough thrusts, the pain came with it as the claws mimed his thrusts in his own agonized flesh.

Sinking into the pleasure and the pain with a vicious need, he focused on the slick feeling of the red flow that coated his shaft and spiked in the thatch of golden fur at its root.

Forcing his prey down with a hand that put most of his weight on the runt’s chest, the claws cutting into it, his other hand clamped around the base of Logan’s cock.

With a roar of hate, Logan’s free hand, unable to make him let go, released Victor’s wrist and stabbed his long Adamantium claws into his hip. Blades stopped by the metal on Victor’s bones, he twisted at the wrist, trying to carve as much of his attacker’s flesh as he could.

Knowing what it could do to him, Victor worked Logan’s cock with a merciless fist. Angling his thrusts, he rubbed the prostate inside as he squeezed and stroked. Shifting the hand to hold it securely, his grip bruised the retracted foreskin as he let one of his claws threaten the leaking head. Aiming for the slit full of pre-cum, he pierced the liquid with the tip of the claw and held it up again for a breath to see it bead on the tip like dew before pushing it slowly inside the tiny, vulnerable opening. Moving it in and out, he allowed his claw to fuck the runt’s cock as if it were a weak frail’s wet cunt.

Scents of sweat, bile in the throat, the stink of fear and the war of rage, horror, and disgust on his enemy’s face enveloped him as tightly as the angry and violated tunnel he thrust into, fast, again and again. His jaw trembled to drop and bite, to slash, but he clenched it tight and growled as the beast within raged at the restriction.

When the brutal pleasure burst, it caught him by surprise and stole his breath, his scrotum twitching and tightening where it slapped against the outraged and blood-smeared skin. Ripping from deep inside, his seed shot into the bloodied hole, more and stronger than in a gentle mating, as it always did.

Panting and hissing, he felt his shoulder and hip gush with blood as the claws retracted with a ~snakt~. The flesh began to knit instantly, and the buzzing feel of it added to his exquisite high.

Trying to regain his breath, he backed off of his conquest, watching as his white and red smeared cock pulled free. Remaining on his knees, he looked down at the haggard form as the eyes opened, the bright blue glazed with pain and heat.

“That was … the best yet, Vic.” Wincing, Logan’s eyes tried to focus on him. “You might have dislocated my shoulder, though – again.”

Victor’s smile stretched wide and cruel as the body morphed back into the slender and taller dusky beauty of the Greek incubus. “Sit up, an’ I’ll pop it back fer ya.”

His soft laugh was rueful. “Sitting up might take a while, you beast.”

Chuckling, Victor got his feet under him and picked the boy up, carrying him to the massive canopied four-post bed near the windows. Setting him down as gently as he could, he muttered, “Lean int’ me, Morph, an’ close yer eyes.”

Placing one palm on his back and the other against the skewed shoulder, he pushed, short and fast. With a crunching pop, it was over. Victor lifted him again and laid him out in the center of the bed.

Glancing up at the mirror in the underside of the canopy, he smirked at the mess they were already making of the bed. His shoulder and hip had healed, along with the other cuts, but the claw slices on his companion’s body, though shallow, bled here and there. By the scent of him, his ass was still bleeding, too.

“Ya might could stretch that thing a bit more when ya shift. It’s ‘sposed t’ be pretend brutality, accordin’ t’ yer boss lady.”

Morpheus’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. “You like it better with real brutality – so do I. Can I ask why him, or is that a stupid question?”

“Ya can ask,” he replied, his tone warning against it. A breath later, he relented. “It’s fantasy fer most, ain’t it? Some pukes wanna pretend they got Miss-stinkin’-America clamped on their dick, wanna hear ‘er moanin’ their name. Fer me, it ain’t fantasy, it’s practice. Ya never know when opportunity’ll strike.”

“Why not just kill him? You don’t have a thing for him do you?”

“Don’t be a moron. We’ve killed each other lotsa times, it’s gettin’ borin’. Figured I’d try somethin’ new, somethin’ that’d really mess with ‘is head. Trust me, boy, fuckin’ ‘im bloody an’ makin’ ‘im blow ‘is wad in tha middle o’ tha pain an’ humiliation would do tha trick.”

“No doubt – but I’ve met Wolverine, and I think he’d kill you first, or die first.”

Victor grunted. “I got no prob with fuckin’ ‘im cold.” Frowning over the rules of the place, he growled. “I never shoulda taken Claudette t’ have a drink at Satan’s Circus. Natch, she took t’ their bullshit policy o’ no fights allowed an’ all tha like-minded payin’ customers can come an’ play.” Thinking about the choices downstairs, he asked, “Who’d he pay t’ fuck?”

“You would think that ‘any warm body on the premises’ would do, but he only ever asked for the same one.”

Growling deeper, Victor pressed, “Who?”

The black eyes opened and one of them winked at him. “I tell you, and then you go gut the poor thing just to spite him?”

“Somethin’ like that. Lemme guess – it’s one o’ tha redheads.”

Smirking at him, the boy’s body changed to a curvy and voluptuous, yet athletic, pale-skinned redhead – sporting large firm breasts with rosy nipples. “This sort of thing?”

Victor’s hand immediately squeezed one of the breasts, mesmerized. “Shit… Is that what tha Queen X-bitch is hidin’ under those crime fighter-issue togs?”

“It’s a close guess, I’m sure.”

“Mmm, nothin’ like swollen sweater pies that sit up an’ beg.” He leaned in to lick the other one. “No wonder he lets ‘er keep ‘is balls in a box. Hold it! Yer sayin’…”

“Don’t be jealous, Vic.”

His eyes narrowed as his ears pinned flat. “Now yer fuckin’ with my head. Tha runt’d know what ya are, an’ he ain’t never been fond o’ pretend anythin’.”

Laughing, Morpheus changed back and reached out to caress Victor’s muscled arm with a scratched and bleeding hand. “Yes, I’m fucking with your head. He always used to ask for Grace, but don’t bother plotting to gut her, she’s already six feet deep, as of four months ago.”

“Humph. He stick ‘er with tha wrong appendage, or what?”

“No, she was mugged and murdered – quite mundane, very sad. She was nice. We heard he strung up the meth-head who killed her.”

“What was ‘er power?”

“Empathy, like an emotional tranquilizer. You couldn’t get around her without feeling like all of your cares just didn’t exist.”

“So tha meth-head felt really dandy when he did ‘er, huh?”

“I’ve always wondered about that, actually. He must have blitzed her from behind.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“This might amuse you – I straddled his lap in the conservatory once while he was waiting for Grace. I honestly thought he’d throw me off, but he didn’t.  I’d gotten my hands laced behind that bull neck and I was feeling accomplished that I got him hard until I remembered that isn’t much of a challenge for either of you.”

“Yer so young,” Victor teased, smirking down at him.

“Does the thought of that make you jealous?”

“Yeah, a li’l, ‘cept I’m tha one told ya t’ watch ‘im t’ learn how he moves. Just don’t never fuck ‘im – unless I want ya t’ do it.”

A familiar tolerant and amused smile spread over those soft dark lips. “Yes, dear.”

“If ya think tha runt’s had nothin’ but pussy in over a hundred years, ya’d be wrong. Ferals tend t’ be opportunists an’ if somethin’ in heat trips us up ‘nuff, it’s gonna get fucked, no matter what it is. Bastard can only try t’ be zen ‘nuff t’ control that. T’ be honest, I’d like t’ know if he can stop if he’s pushed int’ tha red zone. Me, I don’t try too hard; if ya don’t wanna screw, then don’t shove yer motherfuckin’ heat up my snout.”

“I love how romantic you are.” He watched as Victor trailed a white scratch down his gray skin with a claw tip.

“Got no use fer that shit. Should we bandage ya up?”

“Nonsense, you like seeing me bleed. Are you staying?”

“Fer t’night, yeah. Ya gonna recover?”

“Eventually.” The hand on his arm moved down to his wrist, the fingers gripping it loosely. “Six foot six, pointy on – well, six ends, and what – 380 pounds with the new bones? Yes, I’ll recover; I’ve got to play with all of that for a few more rounds before you skip town again. You know, I’m glad I’m in bed with you and not Wolverine for several reasons – the chief of which is that I don’t have to worry about you wanting to kill me for being his favorite.”

Frowning, Victor broke the gentle hold on his wrist and leaned over the youth. “Anyone ever tries t’ murder ya, tell ‘em it’d be real bad fer their health – an’ fer anybody they love, too.”

“See? Romantic.”

Victor snorted. Sliding down the slender body, he planted his hands on either side of his hips, the claws cutting the bedcover. Leaning down, he opened his mouth and took the boy’s half-limp cock into it. Letting an upper fang point graze it, he stroked it with his tongue as it hardened.

Morpheus’s breath drew in sharply, his hands reaching to slide into Victor’s unruly and blood-streaked blonde hair. “Oh, shit, Vic…”

Settling into it, he worked the boy into a gasping frenzy, now and then letting a fang scratch spur him on. It never took long for this, either, and Victor swallowed it eagerly when it burst.

He let him drop off to sleep for a bit as he sat back to watch. When the boy woke with a start a short time later, Victor grinned at him.

“Any thoughts for round two?”

“Yup. Be a frail.”

“Anyone in particular? Your own redhead of the charming blue skin, for instance?”

Lips pulling into a fanged grimace, he growled. “Yer a vastly improved shape-shifter over that frigid bitch. Gimme … tha runt’s redhead, X-uniform an’ all. Then tha li’l flashy queen o’ tha Lollipop Guild, Seraph – maybe Shadowcat. That’s ‘nuff fer a start.”

“What, no perky little blondes with mixed loyalties and exciting time bombs? You refused my company for her sake last time.”

Victor grunted. “Been there, done that, an’ obvs savin’ myself fer any-fuckin’-body is a thing o’ tha past. Rather split tha runt’s harem; it’s more inspirin’.”

Morpheus sat up carefully, lifting his hands to stroke the gold mutton chops. Victor frowned when he leaned in to kiss him, but allowed it without responding. Looking into his eyes, the boy whispered, “I’m glad you came back, Vic.”

Before the nickname had passed his lips, they turned red and plump, the heavy breasts morphing to press their erect nipples inside the leather uniform top against his furry skin. Victor reached up to grab a handful of long red hair and yanked it, pulling the exquisite pale face of Jean Grey away from his.

His fangs sank into the side of her throat, and he had to resist the urge to tear the soft, perfumed flesh, to puncture the jugular vein. Morpheus couldn’t pretend her mind-flaying mutant gifts, or the telekinesis that had punched and pinned him in captivity, but when Victor released the bleeding throat, Jean Grey moaned and thrust her hips up, her fingers opening her belt and pants.

“Fuck me, Victor,” she breathed into his ear as he retracted his claws and dug his fingers in to grab and yank the leather past her knees and off of one bare foot.

He pressed his thick fingers into her to find that her cunt was wet and hot, the pungent scent of a female in heat filling his eager senses. He knew it was Morph’s pussy and clit he sucked and licked, but the heat was real.

Gripping and twisting her thick and long red hair again, he forced her head to turn almost painfully too far and watched the blood drip from his shallow bite as he thrust his cock into her. She grasped his bicep and squeezed the muscle, their signal that Morph was still able to take more.

“Victor, please, you’re hurting me,” she whispered.

“Shut tha fuck up, ya stupid bitch.” He put his teeth back into the same bite and drove them a little deeper, removed them from her flesh, and sucked her blood from the wounds as his thrusts got rougher. He could scent her tears as she began to sob, her arms drawing up over the leather top. He hissed at her. “Move yer fuckin’ arms before I break ‘em. Gonna get me a look at ‘em rocket tits.”

Jean obeyed, one hand grasping his wrist and squeezing as the other covered her face.

“Better watch, X-bitch. Tryin’ t’ give yer cunt t’ me? Fuck that shit, gonna fuck ya bloody an’ make ya come – cuz that’s how I like it.”

When she opened her glistening emerald eyes and bit her lower lip, the cheeks were flushed with shame as she cried while her body throbbed with her first orgasm. It was almost enough to make him blow early.

He popped a claw with his free hand and dragged it down, splitting through the hated X to growl in lust as the breasts were revealed. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He knew the breasts and pussy were as real as the cock Morpheus had been born with. He smirked before he stroked the flat of his barbed tongue over pink and gloriously erect pencil-eraser nipples. He knew he’d done it hard enough to hurt, but it only made her come again. Victor couldn’t wait anymore after that. He shoved in hard, again and again, until he came deep inside of her. Jean Grey lay limp and sobbing, pressed beneath him, her hot pussy massaging his cock as it spouted, strangling it with a third and uncontrollable orgasm.

Before he finished, the face and form changed as he still thrust into her, the breasts shrinking smaller under his grasping fingers, the screaming and begging voice lacking the wary distaste Shadowcat had spoken to him with in the past. The amazing walls of the sheath tightened down on his bloodstained spent cock, but he pulled free and grinned down at the pretty face framed by long and curling light brunette hair. He set his claw to her flesh through the center of the silver Star of David pendant she wore.

“Here, Kitty, Kitty,” he mocked her. Rearing back, he batted her over onto her belly and licked up between her asscheeks as she screamed.

“Please stop,” she begged, panting and in pain.

Ignoring both the begging and the cursing, he used fingers and tongue to open her anus. If she really were Kitty Pryde, he wouldn’t have bothered, but he’d already bloodied Morph once this way. He didn’t hurry, intent on waiting the three minutes his dick needed to be ready. He felt the small hand hold his wrist again and hesitate. He slid his long tongue into her ass and fucked her with it, slow and easy. When the signal of the gentle squeeze held his wrist tighter, he grinned and moved up to fuck into her exquisitely tight ass, letting it push his foreskin back.

Keeping it easy, playing another game, he enjoyed the change as she started to realize it felt incredible.

“Victor…” she whispered. As she began to cry again, she spoke in a voice broken with both shame and lust, “Logan, I’m … I’m so sorry…”

He drew in a ragged breath as she began to change again, this time into the diminutive but domineering beauty of Seraph, a dwarf female who had once owned Logan’s beloved Princess Bar on the decadent Southeast Asian island kingdom of Madripoor. The blonde with the whip-crack voice had died on Victor’s claws and the runt had grieved.

Seraph was tiny, her body nearly split by his cock. Lust surged at the thought of how that must hurt. A momentary concern almost made him lose his brutal rhythm, until he felt the little hand squeeze his finger.

Victor closed his eyes, the faces abruptly unimportant. The crying voice, the manicured nails cutting into the heaving flesh of his abdomen: they blended with the blood singing in his veins, the blood dripping from the small wounds before the gouges closed. His mind was gone in an instant then, his body poised for the release to burn him, to corrupt, to set him free.

~ ~ ~

Standing at the foot of the bed in a custom black bathrobe Claudette kept for him, Victor watched Morpheus sleep. The ingenious boy had morphed into Storm to bathe him clean. It had taken some time to get the blood and tangles out of his hair. Long before they finished, his weary Storm was about to pass out.

Victor had turned from being the one getting pampered to taking care of the boy. He cleaned him up, bandaged him, and put him to bed. He smirked at the tableau. The bed was a bloodied mess pasted with their sticky and drying cum. He’d tossed a clean blanket down before putting Morph on it, but it couldn’t tamp down the scent. Gloriously nude and fucked raw, the Weather Witch slept over his spunk – her beautiful dark skin interrupted by white bandages here and there and all over. The long white hair was braided.

_One o’ these times, gonna hafta stay long ‘nuff t’ know if he changes back in ‘is sleep, or wakes up as Storm._

His clothes were in shreds, so he just retrieved his phone, boots, and wadded up coat and carried them out and down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My stories reference a lot of comics canon issues and events, and I may not always cite them in the notes. I assume the avid readers will recognize those parts, and others may not be concerned with it. Most of the “history” Victor refers to is canon, or my best guess after researching canon information. Any reader as obsessed with Victor as I am is welcome to let me know if they notice any glaring mistakes. Some continuity is ignored for the sake of the story, though. For instance, I believe Seraph actually survived Victor’s attempt to murder her, or she was brought back (most likely the latter). However, from Logan’s viewpoint, she definitely died and I’m assuming Victor would believe the same. Also, while Victor’s crack about he and Logan killing each other “lots of times” may sound silly, it is a canon joke and Victor says it to Mystique in a comic at one point. I think moments like that are a Marvel in-joke where they make fun of their habit of so many characters returning from the dead, so often, regardless of ability, circumstances of death, or you know, logic. LOL.
> 
> Satan’s Circus is a comics canon secret bar and gambling den for villains only, but they aren’t allowed to fight each other there. I haven’t discovered where it is supposed to be located, but I’m going to place it in Hell’s Kitchen in Midtown Manhattan, New York City. Victor plays a poker game there at the end of one of his comics, and it also shows up in Punisher stories and others. I plan to toss it into another story or two of mine down the road. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	3. Cœur de la Reine

Late at night, body’s yearning  
Restless night, want to be with you  
Someone’s playing in the garden  
So enticing, should I take a bite?  
I don’t know what’s come over me, yeah

She’s as heavy as a Chevy  
Pure excitement, misled  
When she touches, can’t resist her  
I’m a puppet when she’s playing  
She’s outgoing but I love her so, misled  
So I’m saying now

Baby baby, what’s your claim to fame?  
Got me out of bed, heard you call my name  
What’s this crazy place, you want to take me to?  
Tell me, what’s the price if I go with you?

My heart, my soul, my love  
Is that the goal?  
It’s a thrill, baby I will  
Be misled, be for real

Thought I knew her, this lady  
Opportunist, misled  
Always searching for adventure  
Like Pandora’s box, misled  
And I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her

I’ve got this feeling and it’s blocking my way  
But I love her just the same, just the same  
Oh yes I do

Misled, heard you call my name  
Misled, what’s your claim to fame?  
Misled, took me by the hand  
Misled, said I would understand

Misled, boulevard of broken dreams  
Misled, not a pretty scene

~ Misled (Kool and the Gang)

*****************************************************************

The brothel was never closed, empty, or entirely quiet, but no one bothered him or approached as he headed for Claudette’s private suite across the building and up the narrower black marble stairs. It was almost dawn, but they knew he was welcome to disturb their Madame at any time.

Her door wasn’t locked; it never was if he was in the brothel. He opened one of the double doors, slipped in, and closed it quietly behind him, turning the lock. There was a plain heavy wooden chair by the door, placed there years ago for his use. He set his coat and phone on it and dropped the boots under it. Stripping off the black bathrobe, he hung it on the back of the chair.

She could afford to remodel however she wanted to now, but she never bothered – the illusions she spun could be changed on a whim. Her power was the strongest of its type he’d ever known or heard of. It couldn’t fool his nose, but if he was in the mood to let it sink in, it could almost seem real.

The suite he entered this time was as opulent as the Queen’s grand apartment in the Palace of Versailles, at the time of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette. Fresh and real cut roses stood in vases all around, adding to the scent of rose water she liked to sprinkle on her sheets.

Victor moved through the suite to the bedchamber, passing her chapel, library, parlor, etc. – rooms that were fully realized and detailed. He knew he could enter the library, select a leather-bound book and read it, even though it wasn’t real. The actual room, as his nose knew it, was a wide and long nearly empty rectangle with a concrete floor and steel-inside-brick walls. Without his healing factor, the place might have given him a headache, but he had decided he liked it long ago, no matter what illusion he walked into – it was all a part of the woman who still had the ability to fascinate and ensnare him, all too willingly.

Under an ornate gold and lavender silk half-tester, the wide opulent bed held a lone sleeping woman lying on her back with her hands up on the pillows beside her beautiful face. With the flood of platinum blonde curls released from her piled hairstyle, she resembled a fairytale princess with porcelain skin.

Smirking at the thought that he far more resembled a monster than a prince, he crawled over her body and grasped her wrists before she woke. He licked at the shallow bite he’d given her over the older scars of the bite from before that.

She smiled and moved her head to give him her throat, her body pressing magnificent breasts up against him. “Veektor, oui … I am yours, always…”

He pressed his hard cock into the soft embrace of her white silk lingerie as she opened her legs for him. The tips of his fangs sank into the bite to make the blood flow, pulled free, and then the shafts of the lower fangs pressed into her flesh as he sucked at the wounds. He let her wrists go as he drank and she worked her hands down to pull up the white silk to her waist.

Victor moved a hand to hold his weight up and shoved in roughly to mate her as his free hand squeezed a breast. Neither of them spoke – it was a dance they’d done for years. When he got the bleeding stopped at her neck, his fingers ripped the neckline of the lingerie and he began to lick and suck her breasts. She watched the single claw slide free, poised over one dusky rose nipple. As it pricked, pierced, and slowly stabbed in, she pressed her breast up to take it deeper. Withdrawing it, he moved it to the other and delicately pierced it. He watched them bead and well with blood before he sucked them, the luscious taste of it a heady comfort that shuddered down his spine. Her arms came up to hold his head to her breasts as she moaned at the sucking and the endless harsh thrusts.

He could feel her telepathic gift beating soft lunar moth wings at the edges of his mind. For this one, he would have allowed her inside, but he didn’t know how since his brain had been cloven by an Adamantium spike. In the dark days of blood madness, she had given him the glow before he even knew that it would help. He had lived here then for a time, her wounded paramour, once again afraid of the world. Long before that, her body had taught his how to be soft, to give pleasure without pain, to be gentle in his mating. Yet she loved his roughness and welcomed it, and she was the only mind-witch he’d ever trusted.

As her aching nipples ceased to bleed, he pierced them again and drank again, as she let him take all that he needed. His heat burst inside and they both gasped, the wash of pleasure rolling through his senses. When it stopped, he pulled away and dropped onto his back beside her.

Turning to mold herself against his warm body, she took his hand and laced their fingers together over his heaving abdomen. Feeling her gaze, he looked down to where she had pillowed her head on his chest. Her eyes were mutated iridescent lavender with spokes of white shot through the irises. She was quiet, but he could scent the tears she was struggling not to shed.

“Mon cher…” she whispered, “You are not blocking me. I feared you were.”

Victor laid his head back and closed his eyes. “Wouldn’t. Ya should know that, darlin’. Hell, don’t think I ever knew how t’ do that. Only trick I know is t’ bury what I wanna hide under a pile o’ violence an’ corpse-makin’ memories.”

“Eet was said zee claw stopped zee madness, and I was ‘appy for you. I did not ‘ear zat eet stopped all telepathic connections. I will miss zee closeness. Zis injury will ‘eal, no?”

“No idea – been some years. Ya never noticed before that it wasn’t me tryin’ t’ keep ya out?”

“You ‘ave been so angry in recent visits, eet can block or project what you feel – but eet seemed to be a resisting of me.”

“Outside o’ yer bower, I’m better off if it don’t never heal, ya know. Most o’ yer kind ain’t got my best interests in mind.”

“Of course.”

“If it was workin’, though … I’d let ya see somebody… Somebody I … lost.”

He felt her kiss his chest. “I know what your little X-Force girl looks like already.”

“Tabitha… I can’t fix that, neither. I met someone before I let ‘er in – maybe she’s why I let Tabs in…”

“Why do you wish to show me zis woman?”

“So ya could show ‘er t’ Morpheus.”

“Oh Veektor, when you give your ‘eart, my sweet, you falter. Let us give, you were born to take zem and let zem feed you. You are zee ‘unter, not zee prey.”

Sighing, he moved from under her to lie on his stomach, pillowing his head on folded arms. He watched her face, so much prettier without the makeup, and tried to calm his nagging frustration and the empty numb ache inside.

“I dunno, maybe I’m just fuckin’ stupid. It was only one night – but she was diff’rent, never felt like that before or met anyone like ‘er. I tried t’ fit Tabitha int’ that, but we … had too many probs goin’ in. My fault, or Cueball’s, take yer pick. I thought tha need would fade, stop… It hasn’t. Dunno what t’ do. It makes me angry, but it’s like bein’ angry at tha wind. I coulda had somethin’ with Tabs, I really think I coulda… Now she’s left me…”

When his growl broke, she offered her softness and he let her gather him in. He cuddled into her warmth, hiding his face in her hair. She stroked his curly blonde hair, toying with it.

“Tha nightmares are gettin’ worse an’ I ain’t been sleepin’ much. What if tha madness comes back? If it comes back an’ I can’t get tha glow…”

“Oh, mon cher, I ‘ate to zee you frightened…” She kissed his hair. “You are zee god of zee ‘unt, but your ‘eart still yearns so much. I will ‘elp you any way zat I can.”

“I got somethin’ that might let ya an’ Morph help me – it’s a tech toy I got Stark t’ make fer me. It can show ya both my memories o’ Bonnie, give ya how she looked, sounded, even smelled… I wasn’t ready t’ let ‘er go … dunno if I ever will be. Now Tabitha’s gone, too – she don’t want me no more. I loved ‘er, Claudette, close as I know how; least I tried t’ understand how t’ love ‘er… I’m no good at it. I’m nothin’ worth that – just an animal, a fuckin’ broken monster gorged on blood with ‘is heart torn out… Can’t even die.”

Releasing him as she softly shushed him, she sat up against the piled lavender silk pillows. He let her guide him up into her arms and melted into her with his head on her breasts when she began to rock him. Touching his hand, she rubbed at the fingers, massaging the ache in them to relax them and make the claws slide free.

He opened his eyes to watch as she lifted one to her nipple. “Pierce and drink. Zee blood, zee comfort, you need zis and you deserve eet.” He obeyed, trying to be easy. “Deeper, mon cher – zis eez my gift to you.”

Victor shifted, still in her embrace, and stabbed the curling claw deep. The blood welled again and ran down the metal, coating it red. She offered the other breast, too and he stabbed slowly and deep into that nipple as well and then held it as he latched on to suckle from the first. Something old and buried moved through his mind, an echo of fear and pain, a hunger that had terrified him. Afraid of it, he growled as he suckled her breast.

She shushed him again, holding, rocking him, and stroking his hair. “You are safe, I will watch over you. Drink, accept zis comfort.”

The growl guttered out as his cock began to harden. When he released one bleeding breast and rose onto his knees beside her to suckle the other, she got her legs up over his thighs.

“Mate wit’ me eef you need zat … you know you are always welcome inside. Soon, my woman’s blood will return and you may ‘ave zis, as before, eef you need eet.”

Victor found her wet heat and thrust in, but he didn’t move, the comfort was enough and he wanted the blood more. Seeing it drip, tasting it, memory flashed and he was crouched before one of the earlier kills. The bodies of humans had been littered – some in pieces, missing organs, shattered and emptied skulls – everywhere…

Her precious blood was running down over his clawed hands as he met her gaze. The realization of what his killing could do shot into his veins as a cold fear.

“Tha city – what I’ve done – can make things harder on mutants, where ya live… I’m so stupid…” He looked away from her.

Smiling, she lifted his scruffy chin on fingertips and kissed his bloody lips. “You are a ‘unter, my lover, god of zee ‘unt. Zere are too many people. We are protected ‘ere, and zee world needs ‘unters like you.”

“If anythin’ happened t’ ya... I’ll stop, I’ll stop doin’ it here. I can go. If I kill like this somewhere else, soon, maybe by tha tracks again – they’ll think tha threat moved on.”

“Veektor, no… I do not want you to go. Zey cannot find zis place. Anyone who cannot pass among zem can change zeir appearance.” She caught a drop of blood on her fingertip and smeared it onto his bottom lip.

He licked at it, the lure of the taste sharpening the craving. “I can’t bring ya any grief. I won’t. If ya end up at risk, I will go. I hafta protect ya…”

“Eef you want to protect us, ‘unt zee ‘uman scum like zee one zat took our Grace from us. Zese are not worthy.” She brought her hands up to frame his face. “Be our ‘unter, Veektor – be what you are.”

When she kissed him then, he responded tentatively. It was hard to shake the fear that his brutality might threaten her safety.

“Oh, my sweet, I am only saddened zat you fear you cannot love. You love intensely, Veektor, you simply do not know ‘ow to do zis as zee prey does. Do not try. You are not a sheep, you are a lion, you are my ‘eart’s king of beasts.”

Gently tugging, she brought his mouth back to her breasts. He latched on again and began to suckle in earnest with every claw tip pricking into the now ruddy flesh of her heavy breasts. She held him close and kissed and licked at his pinned pointed ear until they both twitched in response to her and rose again.

“Tu possedes mon coeur,” she whispered, and the sweet French words abruptly filled his mind with the scent of pines. His swirling thoughts were stilled by it, brushed away by the soothing smells of clean snow blanketing a clearing ringed by poplar and white birch.

Victor tried to push away the fears of madness and loss with the rest and clung to her, sinking his senses into her as he sucked and drank … and drank. He knew she would not push him away, would not deny him, and it helped him feel safe, even though he didn’t know why he felt so afraid of it…

~ ~ ~

When he woke from a fitful sleep, he knew it was well past noon. Claudette was across the room sitting at her vanity. She wore a soft yellow robe of satin. Hearing him stir, she returned to him and sat behind him on the bed to brush out his hair.

“How do ya stay so nice an’ pale when I ain’t ‘round t’ bleed ya?” he whispered, slumping into a relaxed slouch.

“I never go out in zee sun. Do you want new clothes? You still ‘ave some ‘ere.”

“Works fer me. Should go see Lenusya. Ain’t even landed there yet since I got in.”

“I will ‘ave my car brought to take you zere. You need more sleep, no?”

He didn’t argue or reply as she began to braid his hair loosely, tying it at the end with a yellow ribbon from her own hair. She got up and brought him clothes from her royal illusion dressing room, and then watched him pull them on with an admiring gaze.

“Tell Morph thanks fer me? Tha bill oughta startle Obinata good.”

She smiled and kissed him. “I expect to see you again before you leave zee city, Veektor.”

“Yes ma’am,” he answered. “Count on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Tu possedes mon coeur” is French for “You have my heart”. The chapter title, “Cœur de la Reine” means “Heart of the Queen”. Claudette is one of my favorite Original Characters that I’ve ever dreamed up and I’m having a ball finally getting to write her in a story instead of just in notes. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	4. The Crone

The maiden sitting by her pool  
was first to hear my pleas  
as she gazed into the water  
she recited these words to me

Walk not down that road  
I cannot tell you where it goes  
ask me no more questions  
some things you weren’t meant to know

The mother toiling in the fields  
her apron full of seeds  
she dropped them to the earth  
as she recited these words to me

Walk not down that road  
I cannot tell you where it goes  
ask me no more questions  
some things you weren’t meant to know

The greater mysteries  
cannot be shown  
Divided by three  
they are the maiden, the mother, the crone

Finally I found the crone  
walking through the trees  
she looked in my eyes  
and she recited these words to me

Go before the maiden  
fall down to your knees  
should you win her favor  
she may tell you what she sees

The harvest is reaped  
seeds are sown  
Multiplied by three  
she is the maiden, the mother, the crone

~ Maiden, Mother and Crone (The Sword)

*****************************************************************

Victor frowned and punched the pillow into a better shape. He hadn’t slept much since leaving the Yukon house, and it was easier to catch shut-eye while the sun still lit the sky. Yet every time he closed his eyes, his fractured memories and nightmares wore him out more.

The heavy crimson curtains in the master suite were shut tight, plunging the vast and opulent room into darkness. The Gold Coast mansion had been bought years ago, one of the first of a collection of safe houses around the world.

Not all of them were mansions, but each was equipped with enough security devices to repel all comers, along with many nasty booby traps he’d picked up in his travels. A few of those traps he’d tried out himself, long ago, in one war or another; as home security measures, they were far more effective against intruders to his property than they had been against him.

Each property had a caretaker, most of them humans. They were clever people, carefully selected for proven loyalty and obedience, and paid enough to buy their souls along with that loyalty. The caretaker here kept them all in order, arranged things the way he liked them around the globe, and trained the new ones. He valued her ruthlessness, attention to detail, and her acerbic honesty. She was one of the few mutants who helped him hold the keys to the powerbase they had built together.

Sounds far off in the mansion told him the crone was back from running his errands. Predictably, she didn’t wait to be called to enter the room once she finally reached it across the rambling house.

Moving quietly for a non-feral, she busily laid out the bottle of Cristal champagne in the ice bucket, with two glasses.

“Go ahead an’ hit tha lights, Lenusya,” he said in a low voice at the moment when she was closest to the bed.

Victor grinned at the jump and the angry expression on her wrinkled face. It took a moment for her to recover before she went to the light switch. Keeping the dimmer low, she stared back at him as the chandelier overhead began to glow.

He had sat up with the blood-red thin sheet bunched in his lap, but he knew his nudity didn’t bother her. Not much bothered Lenusya Kaminskaya, after he had stolen her away from a crime syndicate in Moscow in her youth. He had done it because he could, to annoy them, and because she had shown no fear of him. She almost never did, which made startling her more fun.

“I don’t know why you waste your money on this swill,” she complained, gesturing to the bottle. Her Russian accent, which she’d been working hard to shed, was nearly gone. “You can’t get drunk.”

“It’s not ‘bout gettin’ drunk; it’s havin’ somethin’ others can’t – like this place, or a warm bloody heart torn out so fast it still has a few last beats in it, or … like a crusty old crone who takes forever, but gets tha details right every time.”

“You’re such a charmer, Victor. Want it now?”

“Hand me tha bottle, unless ya’d rather blush.”

“Seen it before, didn’t blush then, won’t now.” Even so, she brought him the bottle, and held the glasses out.

He didn’t pop the cork quietly, and figured she could find it later. He couldn’t care when it spilled a bit on the bed, either. Filling both flute glasses, he took his and set the bottle against his crotch.

For all of her complaining, she liked the finer things, probably more than he did. In spite of that, she had never been infected with the vice of greed, which had helped him to trust her sooner and farther than most.

Lenusya sat on the edge of the bed in her gray dress and yellow cardigan. Her long hair was white and drawn into a tight bun at the back of her head. Her thick horn-rimmed glasses hung from a gold chain around her neck, lying on the loose gray cloth over her chest. She’d probably left her cane in the stand at the front doors of the house.

“A toast: t’ tha Ripper o’ tha Windy City.”

“Ha! I thought that had to be you. There are certainly advantages when the ‘new’ monster in town is my monster.”

He downed the champagne and refilled while she sipped. “Want tha gory details?”

“Maybe later. You wanted to know a few things, and I found them out for you. First off, that ‘no longer so new’ player in town, the techno genius called Oscar Ollre – his company built that big brute on South Michigan Avenue – has been making waves by inventing a new energy source. The government, the EPA, you name it, has been crawling around trying to get more information about it to ‘protect the people’. Hard to get any dirt on him, though. ‘The people’ don’t seem too worried. He invents useful things and they all seem to like him for it, though a lot of them would sell him upriver for the reward the rag mags are offering just for one photo of the man.”

“I’m not snappin’ a photo fer ya, but if ya wanna sell ‘im upriver, it’s Doc Ock.”

“You’re sure? We had him in the news a while back, smashing up cars, but no one ever said he and Ollre were the same man.”

“Yup. Left ‘is Adamantium an’ titanium stink all over tha Loop, an’ all over that skyscraper, too. Yer right, it’s a brute.”

“I see. Should we be worried about him?”

“I’m not. He’s a gray hat these days by rumor, but we can share tha same porch; I was plannin’ t’ ignore ‘im.”

“Ah, well then, on to the rest.”

Victor worked through the champagne as she gave her report, refilling her glass when she held it up. Everything seemed to be the same well-oiled machine he’d left her in charge of before. Their system worked well, with only two people besides himself aware of where all of the other safe houses were: the banker and the crone.

Trust wasn’t an easy thing, but he’d saved their lives, they’d saved his, and the bonds that had come out of that had never been weakened. The dream of building a real powerbase had been Ryu Obinata’s vision, and he had helped Victor to see the value of it. They’d needed someone to run things for Victor, and they couldn’t think of anyone better than the Russian with the iron trap of a mind and unique mutant gifts well-suited to the work of protecting his secrets.

In her case, trust was why he’d moved her here from the mansion in Vancouver, after it was compromised by warriors of the Hand and his pet telepath, Birdy. Lenusya had gotten out with the contents of his personal safe there, and then shown up on Obinata’s doorstep instead of selling it all and running off, richer than Midas. They both made things run smoothly, kept the other caretakers and property protected, and did things the way Victor liked them done.

When Lenusya finished, he didn’t worry that his mind had wandered, missing some of the details. She’d take care of everything. One name caught his attention: Réquan, in New Orleans – their latest addition to the caretakers list.

“How’s tha boy doin’ down there?”

“He is shaping up quite well and excelling at his education. You do have a knack for picking them – even if you make most of those decisions from below the belt. Speaking of which, your new liaison for the Sanctuary has been impressively effective at her job.”

“Like ya said, I sure can pick ‘em.”

“When am I going to see that son of yours, Victor? I don’t care if I have to go there – I’m overdue for a vacation, which I’m sure you’ve forgotten about…”

“Don’t matter t’ me, I can pester ya wherever ya are, so do it when ya wanna go.”

“I don’t know how you could leave him, from what Perrin told me –”

“Gotta earn a buck,” he interrupted. “Tha whole system falls down otherwise, don’t it?”

“It isn’t like it was in the beginning, though – the Ryu Foundation and the bank branches are hugely successful at making millions. You could slow down – take more time for yourself…?”

“Stayin’ busy keeps me outta trouble. If tha shark stops swimmin’ fer long, he goes belly-up.”

“You need distractions, yes, but they could be relaxing distractions. I still think you need an island where we can drop people and let you hunt them – very Dr. Moreau.”

Victor growled. “I can hunt people anywhere. Never liked that book – Moreau was too much like Sinister. Truth is more horrifyin’ than fiction.” Upending the empty bottle, he dropped it and his glass onto the bed beside him and got up. She didn’t blush, but watched with a smirk as he headed for the bathroom. “Yer gonna go blind doin’ that.”

“I’m old, not dead,” she said and cackled her high-pitched laugh.

“Plowed a skirt only a decade or so behind ya in Detroit. If ya ever decide t’ play, wouldn’t bother me none. Hell, I’m older by a long shot.”

“Maybe when I’m tired of living, not before. You’re too rough with your toys.”

“They break too easy, is all.”

“Was she willing?”

Victor turned to face her, his expression wary. “Nope. Makes a diff’rence t’ ya?”

“You are what you are, Victor; I’ll not judge what you do.”

“Good answer.” He turned away and entered the black granite bathroom.

She followed and leaned in the doorway, her physical strength at odds with the form she currently wore. “I would like to say that I’m sorry it didn’t work out with that X-Force girl.”

“No yer not – yer ‘bout as fond o’ that white hat bunch as me.” He took the yellow silk ribbon off of his braid and set it on the counter.

Lenusya moved forward and undid the braid for him as he leaned his hands on the counter and frowned down at the sink. “True – but your feelings matter to me.”

Victor snorted. “Don’t tell me yer gettin’ soft in yer old age.” He straightened and turned. “I gotta ‘nother errand fer ya, but it might be a couple days off – wrote tha details at yer desk before I crashed.”

“I saw; you collect rescued damsels of all genders the way most rich men collect cars.”

“Hospital is gonna expect a younger woman t’ get ‘er, somebody matronly.”

She nodded. “What am I doing with her?”

Victor shrugged and turned away. Passing the Jacuzzi bathing pool on its high pedestal at the center of the room, he headed for the large glass-walled shower. “Take ‘er home? I gave ‘er a biz card. If she’ll talk, find out what she needs – money fer rent, sex reassignment surgery? I wanna know.”

“You’re nothing if not thorough. Do you want supper here with me, or would you rather catch it?”

“Yer eatin’ alone, darlin’. I might be in tha mood fer cuisine t’morrow, but t’night I want somethin’ bloody. Don’t wait up.”

“I may head over to that technical conference downtown, if Ryu is free to go with me. You might want to check it out yourself.”

“Yeah, cuz a geek matin’ ritual’s just what I like t’ help me relax.”

Shooting him a sly smile, she walked away in her flat rubber-soled leather shoes. “Suit yourself.”

Victor turned the water on hotter than most humans would be able to endure, and stood still under the multiple powerful jets for a long time. It was an exact copy of the shower in the house up in the Yukon. He growled at the memory of placing the bloody diamond pendant around Tabitha’s neck under the cooling spray.

 _Not long after that, in tha bath, I first scented that ya were preg. Can’t regret our cub, but…_ Growling, he shook his head. _Don’t matter no more._

~ ~ ~

He had dressed casual in something he didn’t care about much and contained his hair in a thick braid. Pausing to look at his reflection in the huge framed mirror that leaned against a wall, he had to snort at the frown on his face. The hunt would fix that soon enough. He could smell it when the weak sun left the windows beyond the curtains in the master suite, and a sharp jot of hunger told him it was time.

Moving down the grand staircase and through the 115-year-old Gold Coast mansion at 1435 North Astor Street, Victor felt like he could breathe and shed some of his restlessness. Modern structures never allowed him to be as relaxed as something that had remained largely the same for almost as long as he’d been alive.

It was still the most expensive listing the area had, the neighborhood being equivalent to New York’s Upper East Side. It had cost him $22 million when he bought it years ago. It sported thirteen fireplaces, ten bedrooms, and twelve bathrooms, some of which he’d never even gone into. The thirteen foot high ceilings in the rooms never made him feel closed in, even though it lacked the amount of windows he typically preferred.

The 20,000 square feet of house had four stories and a basement, sitting on a lot of 30,000 square feet with a multi-car garage. Built in 1892, it wasn’t as old or as large as the Yukon safe house, especially in the amount of land that he owned around it, but it had the advantage of being right in the heart of a huge American city with an international airport.

In the large foyer, he came up behind Lenusya, his hands lightly grasping her smooth bare shoulders as he kissed the side of her neck. In one of her younger forms to go out, she was now a woman of twenty-five. The designer emerald green corset dress she wore was a present he’d sent from Milan. Her black hair was long and arranged in a stylish up-do, and she was wearing the diamond and emerald choker Obinata had given her at Christmas. Sleek black Gianmarco Lorenzi stilettos turned her long porcelain-perfect legs into something worth purring over. The shoes left most of her feet exposed. The little thin black straps of leather around the pale ankles were distracting as hell.

“Yer a fuckin’ cocktease, darlin’, ya know that?”

“I know that. You have plenty of playmates in this city, my friend.” She lifted her hands to cover his thick fingers on her shoulders. “I’ve told the new servants that you are often a day-sleeper. The veterans will see that they learn the ropes quickly. Try not to scare them off or I’ll have to keep hiring new ones and then we all have to start over again.”

“I’ll behave.” Victor dropped his hands and she turned to face him. “Obinata pickin’ ya up?” He moved back to the foot of the stairs and sat on the third one up. A smirk stretched his lips as he patted the worn denim on his thighs.

“He’s meeting me at the conference.”

Lenusya stepped closer like a runway model and gave him a delicious haughty expression as she stared down at him. Lifting one foot, she set the shoe on his growing erection and shoved it down roughly. The stiletto heel was a threat over his trapped balls.

Victor’s low growl of heat turned into a purr as his fingers touched and stroked the delicate yet strong ankle.

When she lifted the foot, he slid down a step and let her place it over one of his stiff nipples under the t-shirt. His head lowered and his tongue toyed with and licked the ankle and the little strap. Looking up at her, his grin split over his teeth.

“You adore being teased – if I let you have me, it wouldn’t be as fun anymore.”

“If ya found out what my tongue could do t’ yer pussy, trust me, ya’d call it fun. With yer eyes closed, ya could pretend I got tits.”

“Right up to the moment when your dick demands attention? I’m interested in more than just tongues.”

“Still gonna be jealous o’ yer women.”

“That’s fun, too – isn’t it?”

“Fuck, yeah. Ya gotta bring one home sometime that won’t mind bein’ watched while I jack off t’ ya doin’ ‘er.”

“Perhaps – if I can find one so entrenched on my side that she doesn’t just end up in your bed.”

“Maybe ya ain’t as entrenched as ya think – what with how close ya watch me in tha buff.”

“Is it my fault you were made so prettily? You’re a work of art.” When he gave her foot back, she leaned down to embrace him. “Give them hell, Victor.”

He smiled and purred up at her, and she gave him a little kiss. He followed her out and locked up the house for her as Marcus drove the car up and parked. It was the 1929 Duesenberg Model J convertible, top up, gray and black with whitewall tires. The driver nodded to him, but stayed behind the wheel, knowing how his employer liked to do things.

Victor opened her door and helped her into the back himself. “Have fun, doll.” He patted the black top of the car to alert the driver to go.

Turning to face the house, he popped claws on fingers and toes and climbed straight up the limestone to the roof. A short distance beyond the neighborhood, skyscrapers loomed in the gathering dark.

 _I wanna street corner hooker – tha cheaper, tha better,_ he thought, one hand absently rubbing the erection in his jeans. _Then fer meat,_ _I wan_ _na find me a ruffian, somethin’ that’ll put up a fight – much as it can, anyhow._ Thinking of what Claudette had called him, he chuckled. _God o’ tha Hunt, huh? Guess I oughta live up t’ that moniker, then._

~ ~ ~

The first hooker he found who came right to him was the one he picked up. She had bright fuchsia lips and he got a ring of color around the base of his cock as fast as he could. He watched as she worked, enjoying the fear she tried to hide as her hand fisted around the crumpled twenty dollar bill she’d asked for.

His fingers ached as she swallowed it when he came, but he held the bloodlust in check. “What’s got ya so nervous, frail?”

“The news says there’s a killer on the streets,” she whispered.

“Yeah? So why’re ya an’ yer friends out here?” He offered his hand and she let him help her up off of her knees. He didn’t put his dick away – he wasn’t done yet.

“We have to work…”

Victor grabbed her shoulders and put her back where his had been, against the gray bricks in an alley by a reeking metal dumpster. “Wanna earn more?” He grinned when she nodded, and then grinned wider when she began to tremble, staring at his sharp teeth and long fangs. He let her go, dug out his wallet and handed her a hundred dollar bill. “Hold yer skirt up – gonna eat that pussy, then fuck it. Here’s tha game – ya stay with yer friends, but ya don’t take nobody else, don’t let ‘em even touch ya. I plan t’ be back this way in a few hours. If yer still full o’ my spunk, gonna fuck that pussy again. Ya do that, an’ I’ll give ya $500. Wanna play?”

“Y-yes … if you don’t hurt me…?”

“Ain’t plannin’ t’ hurt ya, frail. Go on, hold it up – lemme see it.”

He went to his knees to scent and nuzzle, waiting, feeling her watch him as her fear stench rose thick around them. When she started to cry, he began to suck and lick. He’d made her cum twice before she realized she wasn’t being harmed.

When he rose, he flipped her to face the bricks, pulled her hips back, and shoved his dick deep all at once. He wasn’t nice about it and might have bruised her inside, but she didn’t scream. Her face was pressed into her hands up on the wall as she just sobbed and took it.

Right before he came again, he pushed in close and whispered at her ear, “Maybe I am tha Ripper on tha news, huh? Ya think maybe I am?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured, swallowed hard, and then added, “he wasn’t killing women, and they said … no sexual assault…”

Victor grunted and shoved in harder as he came. He pulled out fast and she yelped when his fingers lightly slapped her pussy. “Hold on tight t’ that.” He put himself back together and stepped away from her. “Ya might be right. Catch ya in few hours, frail.”

He hunted and ate only a few, and none of them had any fight in them. When he returned to his new playmate, he could already scent that she had stuck to the rules of the game. Her companions screamed and ran when they saw the blood on his mouth and down his front.

She was terrified, but stood her ground with her back against the alley wall where he’d cornered her once more. He grinned at her, displaying bloody teeth – well aware she could see bits of meat and brain matter on them here and there, whether she knew what it all was or not.

“Let’s see it,” he ordered in a rasping low whisper. As her trembling fingers pulled up her skirt and held it to expose her pussy, he growled in heat, pleased. “Oh, shit yeah…”

He walked up close and freed his cock. It was sticky from the first time, but she was smart enough not to complain. He pulled her hips forward with one hand as she opened her legs, shoved in, and began to thrust into the mess of his cum already inside her.

“I love my own sloppy seconds. Nothin’ like hot pussy full o’ lukewarm jizz…”

His free hand, smeared with blood, groped and squeezed her tits, but he didn’t show her his claws. He worked her body more easily, chuckling at her when her orgasm shocked her.

“Give us a kiss, frail…”

She almost cried out when he claimed her mouth and forced his bloody tongue in. She flinched and got her lip pricked by a tooth. After that, she froze and let him do what he wanted. He kissed her deeply, pinched her nipples and squeezed her tits through her top as he let her terror and disgust fire his heat. When he came, shooting his seed into her to mix it with the rest, he let her mouth go. A breath later, he pulled out and stepped back. She immediately began to fall to her knees, but he caught her under the armpits and eased her to sit on the dirty concrete.

Victor watched her wide eyes stare up at him from a blood-smeared face as he put his jeans back together. He fished her $500 from his wallet and stuffed it back into the back pocket of his jeans. Crouching beside her, he folded the bills and pinched them between two fingers to offer the money to her.

She took it and tucked it away in the small pocket on the inside of her skirt’s waistband.

“That’s it, all better.” Victor rose smoothly and smirked down at her. “Guess ya were right an’ wrong ‘bout me, huh? Bet ya ain’t dumb ‘nuff t’ tell nobody ya saw me…”

“I won’t,” she gulped out.

“Good girl.” Victor turned away and walked back to the street, whistling Monty Python’s _Always Look on the Bright Side of Life_ as he went.

~ ~ ~

Climbing down from the roof, he landed on the balcony of his house and opened the door to go in. He wasn’t surprised to hear the shower start up in his suite. The defense system would have alerted Lenusya that someone was on the roof and entering the house, while his bad singing would prove that the person was him – and stop the house from trying to kill him.

He put his phone and the wallet with its chain on his nightstand, peeled off the bloody t-shirt and dropped it on the polished wood floor. When he got to his bathroom, she was sitting up on the counter by the sink in a long cotton nightdress. It was white and covered with tiny pictures of yellow ducklings. Seeing her little feet swinging, the black hair in braids, he sighed, but then had to smile.

“Glad I didn’t start strippin’ off tha jeans already; creeps me out when ya do that, ya know.” He washed his bloody hands in the sink.

The little cherub-faced girl of ten, the way she’d looked when they had met, smiled back and told him, “Yes, I know.” Her bright green eyes were full of amusement, as well as the knowing wisdom of all of her years.

“Thanks fer gettin’ tha water started. Did ya have a nice time out?”

“We did. Ryu says hello. Help me down?” He lifted her by the waist and put her on her feet. “I’m going to bed. Good night, Victor.”

“G’night, darlin’…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Moreau is a villain in the H.G. Wells book, "The Island of Doctor Moreau". He uses vivisection to combine animals and humans into creatures. Ah, Lenusya - another character I created ages ago and it’s awesome to finally introduce her in this story. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm  (@MET_Fic)


	5. The Candle Burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Warning: For those who have not yet read the Sabretooth limited series, "Mary Shelley Overdrive" or my story tribute to it, "Overdrive" (details at chapter end), there is a spoiler of that story in the following chapter.

Time moves a summer wind  
I can see your face again  
Was it such a tragedy  
being you, being me?

Smoke clears, the picture fades  
but I stay back in yesterday  
All the strangers come and go  
all of them will never know

Nobody’s touch feels like your touch  
Nobody gets to me that much  
Nobody’s kiss moves me inside  
and I have no place left to hide

Tell me what can I do?  
I have a vision of you  
Tell me what can I do  
with this vision of you?

Did I walk? Did you run?  
What’s the way to love someone?  
Oh my darling did we know  
what it meant when we let go

Nobody’s touch feels like your touch  
Nobody gets to me that much  
Nobody’s kiss moves me inside  
and I have no place left to hide

Tell me what can I do?  
I have a vision of you  
Tell me what can I do  
with this vision of you?

How can a candle ever burn so bright?  
Casting a shadow on my life  
I am blinded by your light  
Even without you

~ Vision of You (Belinda Carlisle)

*****************************************************************

The metal circlet was warm against his brow as he sank from his knees to sit slumped on the floor against Claudette’s couch. His fingers trembled as he slipped the device from his head and set it back in its open case on the coffee table. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, his hands curled in his lap. He’d shown her all of it, every memory he had of the woman who had turned his heart inside out – except for the moment when he’d put his hands to her neck and twisted…

“Come wit’ me, mon coeur, and rest.”

~ ~ ~

Victor was woken by a terrible noise. He lifted his head in a panic to look for Claudette, saw that she was safe, and turned away from her. He’d woken up screaming again.

He flinched away from her fingers when she tried to touch his back. “Don’t…”

“You ‘ad to do zis, to keep your promise to ‘er.”

His body tensed. “What’d ya say?”

“You ‘ad to break ‘er neck – or zee virus would ‘ave killed ‘er in terror and pain, no? I am so sorry zis ‘appened.”

Victor sucked in a breath in shock and then the growl rumbled through his chest, low and vicious.

“Do not be angry…”

With a snarl, he got away from her so fast that he nearly fell as he stumbled away from her bed.

“Mon cher, please…”

“How’d ya fish that outta my head?”

“You were projecting – as you used to do.”

“That can’t happen anymore…”

“Veektor, you are always ‘ealing, you know zis.”

“No, I can’t have that, can’t…” His fists opened, the claws tearing free and curling long.

Claudette rose on her knees, holding her hands out palms up to entreat him. “I am sorry eef you did not know, but you projected and I felt and saw your pain. Your injury, eet must be starting to completely ‘eal – oh, Veektor … you know I would never ‘arm you…”

“What they did, what they can do…”

“Who?”

“Xavier an’ ‘is mind-witches,” he whispered.

“But zey are enemies – Veektor we were both asleep, relaxed, we know each ozer so well and you are not guarded around me. You may be ‘ealing and some day it may be a danger, but we are not like zem, mon cher. Please do not fear me…”

He felt sick, but the healing factor wiped it away almost as soon as he felt it. Hissing, he hooked his claws into his abdomen, ignoring her frightened outcry as the blood dripped.

“If it’s healin’ my head that good, maybe it needs somethin’ else t’ distract it.”

She rose, approached slowly, and grasped his wrist. Greatly daring, she gently unhooked the claws and pulled them away.

“Zis woman, your Bonnie – you need ‘er to distract you. Forget ‘er unfortunate end and zink of zee comfort she gives you. I will show what you ‘ave shared wit’ Morpheus – go and ‘ave ‘er, mon cher.”

“No, don’t – I can’t cope with that right now. I gotta go…”

He turned away and tore his wrist out of her grasp. Yanking his clothes and coat on, he retrieved the MII from the coffee table, snapping the case shut. He stuffed it into one of the deep pockets on the coat and almost fled from her.

When he stopped running mindlessly through the city, he fetched up against one of the overpass structures of the L. Sinking down in a near-fetal ball, the dirt and pebbles scraped the concrete under his boots as he pulled his legs up closer. He yanked the long coat around him like a blanket, let his chin hit his chest, and waited for the trembling to stop.

His mind was plagued with echoes of pain, humiliation, and the horror of being trapped physically and mentally as his enemy split open his memories and trephined his soul.

Growling, he struck his face so hard to wipe away an offending wetness that it took a moment for the bruises to fade. Shaking fingers rose, the claws tearing free slow. Gripping the sides of his head, he tried to pierce his skull, but only the skin would yield to the lethal tips. When Logan had cloven his brain, the skull around it had not been bonded with Adamantium.

Victor curled into himself tighter, sliding down until he lay on his side in a trembling ball. “Get out,” he whispered to the face that floated in his waking nightmare. The harsh lights that had hurt his eyes had gleamed off of the bald skull, shadowing the eyes that stared mercilessly into his. “Get outta me, leave me alone! Go away!” he screamed.

A train on the Green Line was approaching fast. Victor hissed, his mouth dripping with saliva. He uncurled and grasped one of the metal supports. With a snarl, he began to climb. Barely getting up to the tracks in time, he set his chest on the ties and stretched to lay his temple on the vibrating metal rail. Opening his eyes, he snarled as he watched the train come at him.

It struck with concussive force, tearing a path in the flesh on his face before it threw him into the dark to fall from the overpass. He landed hard on his back in the road as the train rattled and screeched overhead, unaffected and indifferent.

Turning onto his side, he caught the loose flap of flesh in his palm before it fell away to hang from his skull. Both eye sockets, the Adamantium bridge of his nose, and a tear at the base of his ear were pouring blood onto the asphalt. Pressing the flesh in place, he felt it knit itself back together with the rest. When it would stay on his skull, he struggled to sit up and pulled his knees into his chest. His arms wrapped around his legs and he hid his disfigured face as the buzz of healing repaired it. His lips felt hot as they were mended. The blood in his mouth coated his teeth, but the cuts to the gums were already healed.

As he sat there, he could feel his eyes and lids growing back. His ribs hurt on one side, but there was no injury there – it was the psychosomatic phantom pain he’d felt off and on, all of his life.

When he could see, he forced himself to rise, to stumble down the road until he could walk without a limp. Finding an abandoned car, he sat on its hood and ignored the crush of the fiberglass under his weight. Fishing for his phone with trembling fingers, he growled at the cracked screen. The metal case of the inducer device had protected it perfectly.

Looking around, he got his bearings and shoved the phone back into his coat. He stood and began to walk, heading for home.

~ ~ ~

Victor tried to relax as he sat on the polished wood floor of his bedroom at the foot of his bed. Lenusya sat on the bed over him, her gnarled and wrinkled fingers unwinding and brushing out the braid, trying to pluck the bits of grass and weeds from the golden strands.

“If it heals completely an’ leaves me vulnerable t’ those freaks, they’ll lock me up or turn me int’ their ass puppet again.”

The sound of fancy dress shoes pacing in front of the curtains stopped. Obinata moved to the leather armchair where he could see Victor and sighed, spreading his hands in front of him. “What can we do?”

“Dunno,” he whispered. “All I can do is try t’ stay one step ahead an’ keep in tha wind.”

“She had a point,” Lenusya offered, “you are familiar with her and accustomed to sharing like that – maybe it only happened because it was her.”

“Let us hope,” Obinata said. “May I suggest you go back there and see?”

“After I sleep, or try t’ sleep…”

“You should eat, I’ll bring you some sirloins,” Lenusya suggested.

“No, don’t.”

“Victor, you were hurt.”

He looked away from her. “Said no. Just wanna sleep.” Neither of them had brought it up and he hadn’t told them, but they knew: he had tried to hurt himself again.

Victor stopped listening to them as Lenusya let go of his brushed out hair and rose from the bed. He stood, dropped the robe, hauled the fresh bedclothes down, and crawled in.

“I will transfer everything to a new phone, Creed-san.”

“Thank you for coming so fast, Ryu.”

“Of course.”

Lenusya came close at Victor’s back and leaned down to kiss his temple. “Sleep well, my friend.”

When they left, she shut the doors softly. Through the curtains, he could scent the rising sun. Staring into the dim room that he could once again see clearly with his enhanced vision, he lay still and silent. His fingers lifted to touch the path where the metal wheel had ripped half of his face away from the shining skull underneath.

Closing his eyes briefly, he snapped them open again when the image of those baleful cold blue eyes stared back at him.

“Go away…” he whispered to the empty room.

~ ~ ~

Small waves lapped against the golden fur dusting his abdominals as the metamorph slipped back up to him. Victor lifted his arms to stretch them out on the wide rim of the bathing pool, smirking when Morpheus’s hands eagerly began to caress the stacked muscle groups.

When the boy shifted his balance in the warm water to let one hand disappear below the surface, he winced, his battered insides protesting any sudden movement. The groping hand ended up grabbing Victor’s cock a little more roughly than he’d probably intended.

“Claudette should hire a healer, so she can patch up ‘er best asset quicker.”

Bending down to lick the curling thicker fur on Victor’s chest, he whispered, “I’m glad she hasn’t. I like wearing your marks – for as long as they last, anyway.”

Victor chuckled. “If I gave ya one that’d last, ya wouldn’t live long ‘nuff t’ enjoy it. We don’t scar, boy – embrace tha concept.”

“You have scars, little fine ones, here, there – especially on your back. Courtesy of Wolverine?”

Victor growled. “No. That’s from when I was a brat, before tha change hit me.”

“Puberty?”

“Sooner fer me, dunno why. Healin’ factor hadn’t kicked in, so I got marks. End o’ topic, Morph. Ya gonna do somethin’ with that, or just hang on t’ it?”

Morpheus smiled, his hand beginning to lazily stroke him. Victor leaned his head back and let his abrupt irritation breathe out slow. It was too gentle a touch to arouse, but the boy knew it was one of the fastest ways to relax him. He needed to relax desperately.

It was after midnight and he’d been in the west suite with the boy since sundown. He wasn’t trying to avoid Claudette – but he also wasn’t ready to face her. Fucking the boy was easier, and since sleep was so elusive, it was likely all the rest he would get.

“Do you trust me, Victor?”

Pretending he was just fine was starting to get easier. Staring at the fancy moldings around the lit chandelier, he let a slow grin take over his face. “My safeword is ‘entrails’.”

“I’m serious.”

“Think I’m kiddin’? Whether that shit is show or tell depends on tha sitch. Say what’s on yer mind, boy.”

“You said you keep a house here. I could be there for you, anytime you want.”

Victor lifted his head up to face him. “Claudette’d shoot me. She treats ya good – don’t wreck it.”

“You never stay around long, and I never know when you’ll come back, or if you will. If you took me with you … I could help – with your work.”

“Ya gone mad, Morph? Did I fuck ya bonkers? People just die ‘round me, mostly cuz I end up killin’ ‘em; stay here an’ keep breathin’.”

“Wouldn’t you like to ‘practice’ whenever you want?”

“When I wanna do that, I can do it by comin’ here. Host o’ dead folks can tell ya I don’t do team-ups real well. ‘Sides, ya can hardly walk fer days after bein’ with me – what makes ya think day-t’-day wouldn’t do ya in?”

“Haven’t you wanted … someone to stick around, who gives a damn and isn’t afraid to touch you? I know you do.”

Victor was silent. _Thought I had it – but Tabitha left me. Never gotta chance t’ want that_ _with Bonnie – had t’ break ‘er neck. Hell, somethin’ woulda whacked ‘er anyway, sooner or later, but I_ _… had t’ do it. Way it felt, doin’ that –_ _an’ tryin’ t’ cope with losin’ Tabs – don’t_ _never wan_ _na risk it again._

Moving against him, Morpheus held his face in wet hands, leaning in until his lips almost touched Victor’s. Instinctively, he pulled his head back, but the boy didn’t retreat.

“I know about her – it hasn’t been that long, has it, since you met her? When you came the other night to see Claudette, she said a nightmare was driving you out of your head; you said her name then.”

“Takin’ notes when I talk in my sleep, either o’ ya, an’ then gossipin’ t’gether ‘bout it? Not tha way t’ make me trust ya, boy. Claudette sure as fuck knows better – or I thought she did.”

“Claudette showed her to me. She said you wanted her to. Didn’t you?”

“After tha mind-witch went fishin’ in my brain when I was down, told ‘er not t’. Gonna hafta chat with ‘er ‘bout that shit.”

“She would never do anything to hurt you and neither would I. Victor, I asked her to show me. You should know by now that I don’t care who or what I have to be for you.”

Fear and want tangled inside of him. He closed his eyes when he felt the boy’s erection shift and fade under the water, felt the press of full breasts against his chest. The hand that still held his cock became delicate, but strong; she pumped it once, and then squeezed. Plump lips that he knew would be a perfect soft pink feathered over his. Drawing his exhaled breath into her hungry mouth, her voice, flawlessly remade, spoke to him from beyond the grave.

“What we did tonight, this was real, wasn’t it?”

“Bonnie,” he whispered, and crushed her lips with his.

Razor metal claws slipped into her curling blonde hair, one hand at her back to pull her to him. Opening his eyes slowly, he sucked in a breath to see her. He knew it wasn’t real, knew she still carried Morph’s scent, but he abruptly couldn’t care.

Victor turned, swirling her in the water, and lifted her up to sit on the edge. Water cascaded off of him as he rose, her long and pale athletic legs circling his hips. She clung to him with a shocking passion devoid of fear, crying out her need as he sank into her heat.

“Promise me, Victor, promise me….”

His mind clouded, hyper-senses and desire warring inside him as he thrust. He held her fiercely, knowing she loved his rough lust, but careful not to hurt her with claws, with fangs, or with the strength that could snap her in two.

Her scent, like lavender, enveloped him, but it was a lie … a lie. The scent came from her left hand, where the metamorph had crushed a fancy perfumed bath bead.

 _It ain’t real, she’s dead, I killed ‘er… I had t’ kill ‘er_ _…_

“Victor, promise me…”

“Yes … keep ya with me – keep ya … keep ya safe…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers/Notes: The woman, Bonnie Hale, appeared in the Sabretooth limited series, "Mary Shelley Overdrive" (Dan Jolley/Greg Scott, Aug – Nov 2002). The “this was real” and “keep you with me, keep you safe” lines are borrowed from that story.
> 
> Victor saved Bonnie accidentally, and she was both physically and emotionally grateful, much to his surprise. They only had one night together, but she had an effect on him he wasn’t prepared to deal with. He did have to kill her (potentially saving millions by doing so) but if you want more details on that, I highly recommend reading that story and hey – Sabey gets laid in canon! However, you don’t need to read the limited series in order to follow this story; you can read my tribute fic to it, "Overdrive", you’ll have all the information you need, as well.
> 
> Incidentally, I think one of the reasons that Victor can be so brutal to women is because he’s rarely had one respond to him at first meeting with anything other than fear, disgust, and horror. It’s likely the reason he goes to prostitutes so much, in canon and out. He can still smell their fear, but they are paid to pretend and to give him what he wants. When Bonnie wanted to be with him at first meeting, and continued to want to, it probably short-circuited his brain for a bit, shocking him into being protective of her. Of course, the other main reason for his brutality to women would be his mother – a mother who didn’t protect him from his abusive father. I think this is what induces him to harm women, with a deep psychological rage against them pushing him to it. Actually, if Bonnie had lived, I doubt if she could have maintained a successful relationship with Victor for long, without a major change inside of him. Relationships are give and take, and Victor’s nature at that time was all take. Bonnie was already irritated at his habit of giving orders and “treating her like a ten-year-old”. Bonnie may have lit the fuse on helping Victor to change, though, and that is a major theme of my series. Here ends this installment of Psych 101. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	6. Bridges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gentle reminder: this story (and most stories in this series after it) contains spoilers for the stories before. Specifically, if you haven’t read "Redemption", this chapter gives away a major plot point in that story. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

I find it hard to live with all my choices  
It’s time to turn a deaf ear to those voices  
Did you ever think to ask my opinion  
Did you ever think to ask if I’m ok?

I’ve burned down every bridge that I’ve found  
Now I limit myself to a six gun quota  
I’ve played down every feelin’ I’ve felt  
And I bottled them up ‘til the well ran over

Give every indication that you’re mended  
Take every rule you come across and bend it  
And did you ever think to ask my opinion?  
And did you ever think to ask if I’m ok?

It feels so good to be numb  
I hate what I have become  
It feels so good to be numb

I’ve burned down every bridge that I’ve found  
Now I limit myself to a six gun quota  
I’ve played down every feelin’ I’ve felt  
And I bottled them up ‘til the well ran over

~ 6 Gun Quota (Seether)

*****************************************************************

A roar of rage woke him. Eyes snapping open as he sat bolt upright, he saw the torn and devastated remains of his bed all around him – again. The sun glowed dully through the closed curtains and he wasn’t alone in the room.

The safe house. “When tha hell did I get back here?”

Lenusya was sitting in the dark by the door. “Just before dawn. Your inner cat dragged you in, wearing your furry birthday suit. Madame Beaumarchais had your clothes sent over this afternoon, via parcel service. I’m not sure why, though – they were ripped to shreds. It’s a good thing you had so many of those coats made. The phone survived this time, at least.”

“Did she send anythin’ with ‘em?”

“What, a severed head? She sent a note. She’ll charge your standing account, no, you didn’t kill anyone, and come back soon. You don’t remember how you –?”

“No.” Letting his head sink into his hands, he wasn’t sure he wanted to pull the pieces together. “That was one clusterfuck o’ a head trip.”

“I thought you liked that boy.”

“Shut tha fuck up.”

The old woman grunted and stood. “Tsk, tsk – you’re in one piece. Protein for breakfast, or was it not quite that good of an evening?”

“Water, lots o’ it, an’ sirloin – skip tha garnish. Ya wanna play-by-play?”

“Not if you can’t remember how it ends.”

“Could give ya a li’l brother – he asked t’ come an’ live with me, tha upstart pup. Shit, it’s twenty grand t’ rent ‘im fer tha night, without tha suite; maybe ‘lease t’ own’ is cheaper. I’d even share. What ya think o’ havin’ a mutant shape-shifter whore on staff?”

Lenusya snorted with amusement. “From the look of you, your ‘staff’ needs a rest.”

Popping a claw on the middle finger he lifted in salute, he sneered at her. “Blow me.”

“You could just stop seeing that boy. Once they fall in love, they start being a problem.”

He glared at her. “Spoken like a twat that never had t’ settle fer hookers cuz she don’t look like a feral horror.”

“I don’t want to listen to that sort of talk. You aren’t ugly. Terrifying people is often a choice you make gleefully – don’t expect them to feel romantic afterward. I thought you would have learned that after the mess with that X-Force girl.”

The growl erupted, low and threatening, as all of his claws slid out. “Ya lousy bitch… Talk t’ me like that again an’ I’ll fuckin’ gut ya.”

“It’s the truth, which you always say you value from me, so no, I won’t be intimidated by your tantrums. If you want a woman to stay, or a man, for that matter, stop raping them on the first ‘date’. Feral nature as an excuse only goes so far. You have to change your actions if you want different results. That metamorph is merely another excuse to indulge in more destructive behavior that isn’t teaching you a damn thing you should be learning.”

“Care t’ know how many times yer teasin’ wound me up t’ go out an’ indulge in all manner o’ ‘destructive behavior’? Kinda makes ya complicit, don’t it?”

Sighing, she turned to go. “Victor, I’m simply not going to do this. A telepathic accident with your French lady love put you on edge. Now you want to pick a fight because whatever that boy did last night upset you. Go pick it with him. I’ll speak to you again when you can be rational.” She left in silence, closing the doors behind her.

“Fuck off, ya bleedin’ cunt!” he yelled after her. Scrubbing his face and whiskers with his palms, Victor sighed and slumped where he sat. “What tha fuck, Morph? Keep diggin’ in an’ tryin’ t’ turn me int’ some fuckin’ weak-ass pussy ‘round yer li’l finger an’ I’ll figure out how t’ make tha scars stick.”

He rose to grab a quick shower, growling at the strips of ruined bedding that tried to tangle him up.

~ ~ ~

Guessing that his foul mood was also attached to his appetite, she had breakfast waiting. His plate at the head of the long formal dining room table held a trio of sirloin steaks, warm yet barely cooked. A huge glass stein of cold water sat next to the plate. He sat in his bathrobe at the chair in front of it with a huff and began to eat using his claws to stab the meat. She hadn’t set out any silverware.

Lenusya sat at her customary place to his right, but she had already eaten lunch. She was younger again, properly matronly, in a costume that reminded him of a stylish and modern June Cleaver. Her hair was salt-and-pepper black, the light makeup she wore not too showy. She was calmly reading a copy of the Chicago Tribune, with the paper in front of her on the table. His murder spree was still front page news.

“What’re ya plannin’ t’ do t’day?” he muttered, not in the mood to apologize for his temper, but hating the silence.

“I’m going to go pick up your latest rescued waif. Ryu assures me the hospital has been paid enough money to eschew asking me too many questions – though I imagine Ms. Frederick Williams will have plenty to ask.”

“They always do. If she wants t’ ask direct, get ‘er phone number fer me.”

“You could get your own dates,” she teased, tossing him a wink. “Shall I attempt to explain to her your feral felony behavior when she met you?”

“Knock yerself out; ya know what ya can an’ can’t say.” He finished up the meat, chugged the water, and rose. Stopping at her chair, he set his hands on her shoulders and sighed. “We good?”

“Of course, Victor – if a few outbursts were going to chase me away, you wouldn’t have watched me grow old.”

“Even though ya never stay that way…” He kissed the top of her head. “Tell Goldilocks I said ‘hiya’.”

“I set a new coat out in your dressing room.”

“Thanks, doll.”

Victor dressed in his usual slumming costume of coat and heavy custom boots with jeans. A gray with blue sleeves Chicago Cubs baseball t-shirt was stretched over his chest, the team logo between the words cracked slightly with age. The fat and worn brown leather wallet on a chain was stuffed into his back pocket and his new phone, now with metal case, in the inner breast pocket of the coat finished it all off.

He’d braided the ponytail and worked his favorite carved bone beads into the loose strands around his face, since he wasn’t going hunting. He had finally shaved his chin and cleaned up the sideburns, but as usual it didn’t help him look any less wild. The fangs sticking up on either side of his broad, cleft chin pretty much ruined any civilized shave, even if the hair was hiding his ears.

In an effort to obscure his feral eyes and to tempt any ruffians, he donned his Luxuriator Style 23 Canary Diamond sunglasses – $65,000 a pop with ivory buffalo horn temples and 18 carat gold frames, lined with 132 hand-cut paved diamonds around the bridge and corners. The dark lenses adjusted to the light and the 2 carat square cut canary accent diamond on the right side lens at the corner complimented his hair nicely.

He threw on his favorite Bvlgari gold and black Diagono line watch and headed for the stairs. The trappings helped with a flagging ego, too – plus, the watch was one of the models he’d seen Tony Stark wearing in his magazine collection.

Lenusya appeared in the doorway to the garage, Bentley car keys in hand. “Oh my, look at you. The old Cubs shirt with the bling makes a baffling statement.” She offered her cheek when he reached her and he kissed it. Her hand stroked down his coat sleeve. “You are visual devastation, darling. This mohair and wool blend is so soft, I keep wanting to spread one over my reading chair. May I ask what your plans are?”

“I gotta go bend Madame Beaumarchais’s ear. Dunno how long I’ll be, so don’t wait up.”

“I won’t. If you happen to want a more pleasant distraction, I left a flyer on the table in the foyer for you. It has to do with a bit of news I tried to tell you when you arrived, but you weren’t listening.” Smiling, she tapped his watch face with a fingertip and turned to enter the garage. “Would you like a lift over there?”

“Naw, in tha mood t’ walk.”

“Trolling for tasty yet utterly stupid thieves?” With a laugh, she disappeared behind the door.

Victor didn’t pause when he spotted a single sheet of slightly grubby folded paper on the table. Just to humor her, he stuffed it into the inner breast pocket of his coat with the phone before stepping out, locking up, and walking off.

~ ~ ~

A chilly wind blew in the squalid streets of Back of the Yards in Chicago’s South Side as the afternoon sun tried and failed to warm and brighten up the concrete jungle. The random patches of grass, scrub weeds, and wildflowers couldn’t  manage to make the place look pretty either, but Victor had always been as fond of squalor as he was of luxury.

His latest bespoke black coat swept the ground behind him, its high collar pulled up to partially hide his face. The custom military style boots were huge, allowing his claws to be extended inside them. He had kept his slanted and pointed ears hidden under his hair and let the braid sway at the back of the coat. He kept his claws retracted as he walked toward Claudette’s place on South Ashland.

Catching his reflection in the smudged window of a dilapidated building, he smiled – not at himself, but at the worried expressions of the street toughs who either hurried past him or hung back. The human sheep who fancied themselves to be hunters could not be fooled – they knew a predator walked among them. Perhaps one of the fancy cars stored at the mansion might have tempted them better, but he needed the walk to think, and to help clear his head.

A rampant and suspicious fear-fueled urge to spill blood in order to stop the need for fear was beating savagely inside his heart. Hurting Claudette was out of the question, but the beast within still raged, spurred by instinct.

_If those telepath freaks can track an’ control me again, life ain’t gonna be worth much, in short order – just as soon as they realize it. Fuck… Maybe Lenusya’s right an’ it only worked cuz it was Claudette._

~ ~ ~

Victor strode through the foyer and the main salon. When Morpheus stood and called out to him, he snarled at the boy and headed for Claudette’s stairs without hesitation. The door was unlocked as expected, but he ignored her French palace illusion and simply found her by scent as she sat at her lighted vanity.

She was dressed in a scarlet corset and petticoat with her platinum hair already piled on her head in elaborate structural curls and coils. A black bustle was waiting on the foot of the bed across the room, with another elaborate French gown beside it – this one in dark gray with red and black bows and ribbons.

When he met her lavender gaze in the mirror, the makeup brush in her pale hand stopped dusting blush onto her cheek. “Are you angry wit’ me still, Veektor?”

Arching an eyebrow at her, he sighed. He’d spotted his stout wooden chair mere feet from the vanity. “Did ya move that cuz ya could track me comin’ here?” He grabbed it, twirled it backward, and straddled it, folding his arms across the back and leaning his chin on his furry wrists. His sunglasses had lightened when he entered the brothel, but under her makeup lights, they were darkening again.

“I moved eet when I felt you enter zee building; you know zee barrier illusions alert me. I ‘ad ‘oped you would come to talk wit’ me.”

“I am angry, but not specifically at ya. It happened. I need t’ know if it was just with ya, or if I’m wide open an’ at risk now.”

Putting the brush down, she faced him. “Tell me ‘ow you want to find zis out? I do not wish to upset you again.”

“Try t’ do it, awake an’ aware. I dunno how t’ fight it anyhow, but I won’t try t’. I hafta know.”

She gently slipped his sunglasses off and set them on her vanity table. He blinked in the lights as his pupils became vertical slits. Her hands cupped his face over the sideburns as she stared into his eyes.

Victor fought not to growl but couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran down his spine. His hackles were rising even as his fingers began to tremble, aching to allow the claws to tear free.

“Try to project to me,” she whispered. “It does not matter what you focus on.”

He didn’t want to think about Bonnie, or Morpheus-as-Bonnie, but the images abruptly flooded his thoughts. To chase them away, he stared into her lavender iridescent eyes and thought about Stark instead, on the last red carpet he’d stalked him at, the event itself forgotten.

Claudette slumped a little and let go of his face. “I can feel echoes of strong emotions, but I cannot breach your mind.”

Victor put a finger under her chin and lifted her head to look at him again. “I know ya miss it, darlin’ – but it ain’t safe fer me. So tha other night was … a fluke?”

“A ‘fluke’, yes – relaxed familiarity, as I said before. You are ‘ealing, my sweet, we know zat eez ‘appening – you should be aware eet may ‘eal more wit’ time, no? Zis eez a risk to keep in mind.”

“It’s a risk I ain’t gonna easily forget ‘bout, trust me.” He stood and she did too. When she opened her arms to him, he accepted her embrace and held her close.

“I am so sorry you were frightened…”

“Do me a favor, huh?”

“Of course.”

“Tell Morpheus not t’ play Bonnie again unless I ask fer that. Told ya I couldn’t cope with it an’ I def didn’t.”

“You said you wanted zat…? Eet was why you showed ‘er to me.”

“I know… I guess I ain’t ready fer it.”

“Did you … love zis woman?”

Victor broke the embrace and got some distance. “I dunno what t’ call it. I wanted t’ call it love, I wanted t’ be … somebody who can do that, who can have that. She turned me inside out, matched my heat stroke fer stroke, an’ she wanted me first time she saw me.” His head lowered, his hands fisting at his sides. “Never felt tha things she made me feel, never had nobody make my body respond like she did. I thought I’d kill those bastards an’ we’d go off somewhere… She wanted that, she told me … she did.”

“Eet was not your fault, mon cher; zey poisoned ‘er before you even met – but I am so sorry...”

He returned to the vanity and picked up his sunglasses. Popping them on, he gripped her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I just know … I wasn’t ready t’ lose ‘er an’ if I could get ‘er back… If there was a way…” His thoughts took a darker turn and his body shuddered again. He turned away from her. “I can remember tha feelin’s, but half tha time … I dunno even what t’ call ‘em. Maybe I shouldn’t try t’ remember – that shit ain’t meant fer tha likes o’ me.”

“Per’aps I could ‘elp – Morpheus for zee body and I for zee illusions? Even eef only to ‘elp you let ‘er go?”

Victor sighed. “I can see through illusions, too, ya know that. It ain’t real with Morph; he can’t smell like ‘er, an’ no matter what he says, he wouldn’t wanna be stuck playin’ a dead girl fer tha rest o’ ‘is life, neither. Shit, I dunno ‘nuff ‘bout ‘er t’ even tell ‘im how t’ be ‘er – ain’t that just as pathetic as it gets?”

“Oh, Veektor…” she whispered, her tears rising.

Growling in pure self-disgust, he left her and headed back down the stairs. When he reached the main salon, Morpheus wasn’t there. The boy’s scent trailed down a back hall followed by the smell of the mid-life crisis idiot who had been pawing at him before. For a moment, he was tempted to go crash that bullshit; with a snarl, he kept on and stormed out.

West 49th turned into South Loomis and he eventually ended up at Sherman Park. A couple of dog walkers decided to take it elsewhere and in moments he had the place to himself. Crossing one of the stone lagoon bridges, he hauled himself up onto the rail to sit with his boots hanging over the water.

 _So my dumbass brain is safe – fer now. Bloody stupid t’ hunt ‘til I gorge myself int’ a gut an’ think it wasn’t gonna jumpstart tha fuckin’ healin’ factor like a rocket._ He sat quietly and watched a bunch of nervous ducks swim farther down the lagoon. _What now? Ain’t gotta job t’ worry ‘bout ‘til November._

He sighed and fished out his phone. Checking texts, he couldn’t keep a smile off of his mug when he saw the photo Perrin had sent.

 _Cub looks like a fuckin’ burrito._ The picture showed his son Silas wrapped up in a blanket and sleeping in Perrin’s arms. _Could fly back ‘til tha next job – if Tabs ain’t there…_ The memory of her scent sank into his bones and made him feel restless. _If I went t’ L.A., would she see me?_ He left the texts and stared at her number in his contacts until his hesitation made him snarl. _What tha fuck would ya say, asshole? Gonna whine like a damn bitch?_

Glaring at the phone, he turned it off and shoved it back into its case in the coat pocket. The folded paper Lenusya had left for him crinkled. Irritated, and thinking about wadding it up and throwing it at a duck, he pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a street flyer for that nerd conference back in the rich part of town. Sneering at it, he started to crush it in his fist and then stopped to stare at the photo in the bottom left corner.

“Fuck me runnin’…” he whispered. It was a shoddy black and white photo of one of the guest speakers, slated to give a couple of speeches and be on a few discussion panels. “Tony fuckin’ Stark.”

~ ~ ~

Looking down the street beyond the edge of the Loop, his far-seeing eyes picked out the glitz of the shops and restaurants between the towering giants of the financial district. The transition line, a few blocks before the Loop, marked a gradual change in the city’s appearance, as if a spell of prosperity cast on the financial and business hub could only reach so far.

Somewhere in that hive was a prime distraction, and if the man had a suite with a good enough view, Victor wouldn’t have to worry about being bored or sinking into a funk. Walking on toward it again, he pulled out his phone, turned it on, and called Lenusya.

“Ya coulda just told me Stark was in town,” was his greeting. They never bothered with hellos or small talk on a phone.

“I did tell you, but you were woolgathering instead of listening.”

“He’s really there – ya saw ‘im?”

“I did.”

“Sober worth a damn?”

“Of course not.”

“Surprised he bothered t’ show up. Tha man flakes a lot.”

“He made a joke at the panel I saw with Ryu, about coming out to see if he could lure the mysterious Oscar Ollre into showing up as a surprise guest. I can only assume he’s been disappointed, or the headline ‘Ollre is Doc Ock’ might have bumped your handiwork off of the front page.”

“Hmm… Maybe I’ll give it a shot – criminal t’ criminal.”

“Odds are he won’t answer the doorbell.”

Victor grunted. “I wasn’t thinkin’ o’ ringin’ tha bell.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, Google Maps says that the address I’m giving for Claudette’s brothel is a Jackson Hewitt Tax Service building, but in the street view images, it is boarded up and says “For Rent”. It looked like the perfect building though, so I’m using it. June Cleaver is the mom from the TV show "Leave it to Beaver". At this point in my Sabretooth series timeline, my Doc Ock fic "Of Dreams and Dust" is over, but in reality, I haven’t actually finished writing it yet – my bad. I’ll blame Victor for distracting me. However, I plan to avoid spoilers for the most part. Ever since I placed Claudette, Morpheus, and Lenusya in Chicago, I knew I wanted to write a scene where Victor meets with Otto Octavius – in the next chapter, it happens! Yay! Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	7. To Kill Tony Stark

I am, I am, I am  
I said I wanna get next to you  
I said I gonna get close to you  
You wouldn’t want me have to hurt you too, hurt you too?

I ain’t, I ain’t, I ain’t  
A buyin’ into your apathy  
I’m gonna learn ya my philosophy  
You wanna know about atrocity, atrocity?

I know you want what’s on my mind  
I know you like what’s on my mind  
I know it eats you up inside  
I know, you know, you know, you know  
Here I come, I come, I come…

~ Sex Type Thing (Stone Temple Pilots)

*****************************************************************

With his boots dangling from his fingers by their knotted laces, Victor stood on the roof of the Octagon Innovations building, a 1,600-foot eight-sided monster on South Michigan Avenue at East Monroe.

_It ain’t Everest, but those assholes an’ their sherpas don’t climb with just their finger- an’ toe-nails, neither._

An alarm sounded somewhere inside and he smirked as he let his boots drop and lit an expensive eight and a half inch cigar, the pride of Honduras.

Rumor had it that Doc Ock liked pricey stogies. Today’s offering had come in a hand-carved camel bone box. One hundred of these beauties had set him back $115,000 – for a luxury intended to be burned to ashes.

_Gotta admit, win or lose, this is a spiffy locale fer suckin’ on rolled up leaves. Annoyin’ a murderous mad scientist by tresspassin’? That’s just cream. They say this walkin’ hentai monster can clock fifty miles per hour an’ tha appendages can strike at ninety feet per second – however this goes down, bet I won’t get bored._

He hoped he’d actually get the man himself and not the lawyer that was rumored to run the company.

Looking around as a red and yellow sunset began, he whistled and slipped his sunglasses off. He popped them into their protective case next to the cigar case in his coat’s inner breast pocket and turned in a slow appreciative circle. On the lake side, the water went on forever.

_Ya might win tha Most Expensive View contest, Doc. Sorta roof ya can hang out on, roomy – not cluttered up with bullshit. Not sure why he don’t put a helicopter pad up here, but still … I bet it’s a nice break fer a hermit with cabin fever. Fun an’ games aside though, tha bastard’s still a scientist type; ugh – I hope he speaks somethin’ other than Nerd, like fuckin’ English, maybe._

Behind the closed and locked roof access door, he could hear an elevator operating. When the occupant got out of it and unlocked the door, Victor already knew he’d gotten his wish. There were footsteps, but the thump and crush of the metal tentacles was an unmistakable racket.

With the whole roof between them, Victor grinned as Doctor Octopus emerged in his long brown coat with the four ugly heavy brutes he was bonded with ranged around him. The two lower tentacles helped support their combined weight, while a third hung overhead like a cobra and the last one swayed on his left with its Adamantium spike snapped out and ready. Victor would guess he was six foot two, and with the tentacles, he might just be heavier than himself. They were also sheathed in Adamantium, so if it ever came down to a scrap, he could forget the idea of shearing the tech sushi off of the man’s stocky body.

“You.”

“Me.” Victor pulled his newest steel cigar case out again and selected a second one, a claw cutting the tip of the cap expertly. Holding it out, he tucked the case back into his coat. “Peace offerin’? This here’s a Gurkha Black Dragon – a sweet-ass treasure over a grand a pop. Let’s have us a chat, Doc.”

Victor was fascinated watching him move, even as his hackles began to rise under his coat out of pure instinct as they faced off. He was impressed when one of the tentacles accepted the cigar from his fingers and brought it to the man’s lips. Moving in with a fresh red cedar match and ready to cup his hands to guard the flame from the wind, Victor strangled an instinctual growl as the tentacles came up around him.

He lit and protected the match until the head had burned off down to the cedar. Octavius leaned in to roll the cigar in thick fingers close to the flame to sear it first like a pro. As he puffed to aide in lighting it, Victor stared at the man’s surprisingly sensuous lips.

Pocketing the little steel matchbook case, Victor turned his back on him in a show of bravado to walk to the edge before sitting on the wide stone ledge that bordered it and facing him again. The doctor stood freakishly still, puffing in silence and watching him closely.

“Came t’ visit on a whim, we’re practically neighbors – when I’m in town.”

“How did you discover me?”

Victor tapped a finger on the end of his nose. “Only one person I ever heard o’ combines Adamantium an’ titanium with their scent an’ then goes swingin’ ‘round tha Loop like a high-tech Tarzan.” Victor drew in the cigar’s luscious flavor and blew the aromatic smoke out slow. “A li’l bird told me that Stark’s been tryin’ t’ call out yer alter-ego t’ go t’ that tech conference. I was curious if it was true.”

“It is. Is that all?”

“What, ya gotta quiche in tha oven?”

“Knowing your colorful reputation, I find it incredulous that you climbed this building solely to ask me about Iron Man.”

“Ain’t concerned ‘bout Iron Man – I only care ‘bout Tony Stark.”

Doctor Octavius smiled, showing large blunt teeth – it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “If you’ve been hired to kill Stark, you should hurry. There is another interested party – a man who also discovered my identity and actually tried to sway me to take the job myself. Unless of course, that is who you’re working for.”

Victor hissed. “Whoa – some asshole’s gotta contract out on ‘im? Who?”

“Not a person of your caliber, but still – sometimes the amateurs do get lucky. I wouldn’t worry about it, however – I plan to have this fool killed for discovering me, along with any associates he may have mentioned it to.” The tentacles swayed and the two on the roof crunched closer as the doctor stepped forward. “It is only sporting to warn you that I do not want Stark dead.” The highest tentacle opened its mouth over Victor’s head and shot out a second Adamantium spike.

Reigning in a growl, Victor kept his seat and glared up at the man. “Me, neither.” The surprise written on his face made Victor’s smirk crawl back onto his lips. “I’m a fan, truth be told – so if anybody’s gonna try t’ kill ‘im, they’ll hafta go through me first. So why are ya ‘bout t’ try takin’ me on in ‘is honor, Doc? Ain’t he yer competition?”

“Nothing so mundane is of any consequence. The world needs his inventions and his genius – as it needs mine.”

“Yeah, well, I can get on board with that.”

The tentacles wavered, betraying the uncertainty of their host. “Why do you care about protecting him?”

Victor puffed on his cigar and let the smoke leak from his sharp grin. “I like lookin’ at ‘im – if he’s dead, I can’t do that no more.”

“I see.”

“Don’t really matter t’ me none what ya think ya see, Doc. Now that we’ve established that we’re both against ‘im bein’ dead, how’s ‘bout ya tell me all ya know ‘bout tha meat that wants t’ kill ‘im, an’ I’ll save ya tha bother o’ goin’ out.”

Octavius watched him in silence for a few minutes. “What assurances can you give that you aren’t lying?”

“If I was out t’ kill ‘im, I’d be at that nerd fest now doin’ exactly that. Look at me, Doc – catch tha man outta ‘is suit, ya think I’d have any trouble spreadin’ ‘is guts across a banquet table? Wouldn’t need yer help fer that. Came t’ see ya cuz Stark wants t’ meet ya. I broker that, I get on ‘is good side, capiche? Killin’ ‘im wouldn’t take so much damn effort; ‘Sides, I slashed an’ ate tha last guy that tried t’ pay me t’ whack Stark.”

“Very well, I admit to being ... impressed. I can tell you where the man asked me to meet with him, and when. He is the client, looking to hire a killer. I have no idea if he has already found one. If you are serious about protecting him, you may need to shadow Stark, in case this man has found a willing assassin already.”

“I do my best shadow work when I’m aimin’ on killin’, ya know. Sneaky only goes so far otherwise, an’ there’s gonna be ‘genius inventors only’ places in that conference he can go but I can’t – not without violence t’ get me in.”

“How fortunate then that Stark sent me a gift – one I was going to discard.”

“What is it?”

“Access. I will have it brought up.”

Victor knew the man could commune with his metal alien bits, but when he didn’t bring out a phone or hit a button on his door to call anyone, he realized he must have a telepath on staff.

“So who wants Stark dead?”

“A young inventor named George Danelek. I told him I would send someone to meet him, who might be able to do this – just to keep him silent until I could send someone to kill him.”

“Pick me,” Victor teased with a smirk. “Where an’ when is tha meet?”

“North Rush Street, an Irish pub called Pippin’s Tavern. It is directly across the street from the conference hotel.”

“Chosen by an idiot who thought those bloody things were gonna fit in there?” Victor gestured to the tentacles with his cigar.

“I had planned on sending someone other than myself.”

“Yup, but now yer sendin’ me.”

“It was set up for tonight – any time after sunset until closing.” Octavius moved to the door almost as soon as Victor’s twitching ears told him someone was there. It opened and a young man handed his boss a large yellow envelope and closed the door. Octavius faced him again with only one winding metal appendage in guard position. Another took the envelope in its weird mouth and twined, telescoping longer, to offer it to Victor.

Holding the cigar gingerly in his front teeth, Victor opened the unsealed flap and let the contents hit his palm. The thing that caught his eye first was a colorful lanyard attached to a VIP badge.

“Pippin’s don’t close ‘til four in tha mornin’ most nights, so that’s doable. How am I gonna know who Danelek is – spend my evenin’ playin’ private dick?”

“He will likely assume you are the one I sent and approach you. He is a young man, hair darker than mine, and resembles something that would be easy to break.”

“So a chew toy. Probly gonna be a bore, but hey – it’s fer a good cause.”

“I sent an emissary to the conference to warn Stark, but I suspect my message wasn’t taken seriously. The only response I received was essentially a challenge to come and tell him myself. He seems to think this matter is some sort of game.”

“Color me surprised. Give a guy a pair o’ steel britches an’ suddenly he thinks he’s some kinda invulnerable god.”

“He isn’t wearing the armor at the conference at all, according to my emissary. He is at risk without it.”

“Not anymore, he ain’t. I’ll see that this Danelek gets dead so’s he can’t tell nobody ‘bout ya, neither.”

“Stark may need protection, but I assure you, I do not. If you had not come here, it would have been handled.”

“Just bein’ neighborly.” Puffing the cigar as he rolled the envelope loosely and stuck it inside his coat, he stood, picked up his boots, and grinned at Octavius. “See? I knew we could get along, find a scrap o’ common ground an’ end up stogie buddies. Good chat, neighbor.”

“Indeed.”

Victor paused after swinging one foot over the ledge to hang his boots around his neck again. “So yer sure tha world don’t need Danelek’s genius?”

“Having investigated his work, I doubt it. At times, those of us with the power to effect change need to weigh the risks and make those changes – for good or ill.”

Victor managed to stifle a shudder. _Good thing he’s talkin’ ‘bout murder, cuz that sounded a bit too much like Cueball fer my taste._ “Yeah, I ain’t never felt tha need t’ weigh much, but I got me a code an’ it’s served me just dandy. Catch ya next time, Doc – I may need t’ borrow a cup o’ sugar, ya never know.”

Holding the cigar in his teeth again, he tossed a jaunty wave to the man before dropping himself over the edge and beginning the long climb down. When he looked up once, he wasn’t surprised to see Octavius watching him.

~ ~ ~

Walking through the door at 806 North Rush Street was something he’d been doing for over thirty years. The largely Irish clientele had rarely minded him, and on a few occasions when they’d had a scrap going, he’d lent a fist. It also didn’t hurt that they had the best Irish gal around running the place, for the last ten years.

 _Never got over tha chuckle o’ ‘er parents namin’ ‘er Meara t’ go with tha mouthful name_ _Ó Donnamháin_ _. Playin’ t’ tha stereotype works fer ‘er, though, an’ what tha hell – she’s got tha spirit t’ match it._

“Glenfiddich, Victor?” she asked, smiling to see him.

Her thick ginger red braid, flashing green eyes and freckled pale nose and cheeks were the same as the last time, and the breasts had gotten more magnificent, if that was possible. He’d never fancied swizzle stick women. This one had the kind of hourglass figure that could treat a man right and keep him warm afterward.

“Natch. Ya know me, Meara – nothin’ much changes.” He went up to the bar and leaned over it to kiss her full pink and freckled lips before settling on a stool that had been quickly vacated by an obvious tourist.

“You need to teach me that trick.”

He checked out her gravity-defying apple bottom when she turned to get the bottle and grinned when she came back and winked at him.

“Aw, ya know I’d still fuck ya.”

She opened the new bottle and handed it to him. “I may hold you to that.”

“What, ya ain’t married number three yet?”

“I’m working on it. It’s harder with a wee one in tow, and I’m not twenty-one anymore.” She patted the remainder of a baby tummy.

“I’ve known ya fer a decade an’ I got lotsa years on ya. Thirty-one is just a pup, ya know. ‘Sides, ya still get me stiff, an’ probly every other man that walks in this joint.”

Her bright smile pleased him. She pressed her fingertips under her collarbones – one of his favorite gestures – and her laugh sounded as pretty as a bell. “You’re so sweet, thank you.”

“Tell me ‘bout tha kid.”

“Braden’s two now, he’s a blessing, and he looks like me, thank God. The last ex-husband was such a mess. I should have taken you up on your offer to get me pregnant, instead.”

“Tha night’s still young, darlin’.” Victor’s smirk made her laugh again, which morphed it into an honest smile.

Seeing other customers glancing her way, she told him, “I’ll be right back.”

“Gimme some o’ that Irish talk first, babe: tell me somethin’ sweet.”

“Adhair mé tú, a chuisle mo chroí.” She leaned in to kiss him again.

“Now ya know that’s one I ain’t never learned, so … what’d ya say?”

Meara brushed wayward blonde locks out of his eyes and smiled. “I adore you, pulse of my heart.”

“Mmm, I like that.”

She stroked fingers down a sideburn, gave his cheek a gentle pat, and went to serve other customers and get drinks for one of the waitresses.

Victor watched her figure a moment before he started to glance around the bar. The place was always busy, and with the conference in the Park Hyatt across the street, the crowd would only get thicker.

The door was constantly opening and shutting behind him and he kept all of his senses tuned out of habit. The moment the biker on his left settled his tab and got up, a young black-haired man approached and claimed the stool.

One glance at his eager expression told Victor he was George Danelek, long before he saw the lanyard disappearing inside his suit jacket. He did look breakable, on the cusp of qualifying as a cute twink if he had been maybe five years younger. _In tha old game o’ ignore, fuck, or kill, this one checks all three boxes – not necessarily in that order._

“Man, I know you!” he announced, turning to face Victor. “Heard of you, yeah. What’s your name, something flashy…?”

“Pippy Longstockin’s,” Victor answered, pretending to be annoyed at the interruption.

“Funny! Funny and a Cubs fan. Awesome, man.”

“What’ll you have?” Meara asked him, tipping a little smile to Victor.

“Champagne, any kind will do.” When she brought him a flute glass, he drank half of it in one swig. “I remember – it’s ‘Sabretooth’! You’re a rock star! I need to talk to you, buddy.”

“I’m on vacation,” Victor groused.

“You may not want to be, once you hear me out – an easy job and a sweet paycheck, huh?”

“I’m listenin’.”

“Let’s move.” He got up and headed straight back to the little table behind the column by the ATM machine.

“Guess he thinks that’s covert,” he murmured in Meara’s ear when she offered her cheek for another kiss.

“Go get him, love,” she replied, and winked at his grin.

Victor carried his bottle with him and settled on the stool in front of the cash machine. The table had the usual green plaid tablecloth and squatty round green candle holder. The darker green walls over the wood paneling were decorated with ornately framed mirrors and black and white photos of a much older Chicago – some of which were as familiar to him as the pub was. He popped a claw and began to play with the candle flame.

“So talk. Tha lady an’ me were tryin’ t’ catch up on old times.”

“Tony Stark of Stark Industries is at the conference next door.”

Victor looked at him with a frown. He shrugged off his heavy long coat and draped it over the machine behind him. “I ain’t in tha autograph gettin’ business, boy.”

“That’s good, actually, because I want to hire you to kill him,” he whispered.

“So yer tha one Mr. Ollre wanted me t’ meet.” Victor leaned in, wallowing in the role. “Gonna make it interestin’ fer me?”

“What is your rate?”

Victor swallowed the snarl that tried to escape. He was well-known, feared, and respected in the underworld and most of his established clients arranged things through Obinata. Anyone approaching to hire him cold in person like this generally had the sense to know that his baseline pay was one million per hit. No one breathing insulted him more than once by talking to him like a two-bit knee-breaking thug.

“Make an offer an’ find out.”

“Fifty thousand now, another fifty thousand after the job is done.” The man looked pleased with himself and seemed to expect Victor to be impressed.

“That much?” Victor scratched under his chin. “Well, now.”

“I can get you access as my guest. I snagged the room that connects to Stark’s Water Tower Suite. He’s drunk a lot in there, bringing back women at all hours, making noise – it doesn’t get any easier.”

Victor stretched and caught Danelek admiring the heavy muscles of his torso and arms. The man’s heat rose and Victor arched an eyebrow at him. “Bet yer easy yerself, ain’t ya? Let’s sweeten tha pot – I agree t’ yer terms an’ ya lemme fuck ya up against Stark’s connectin’ door.”

Danelek nearly licked his lips. “Deal – but when you kill him, I want to watch. That suite is 1,850-square-feet and I want to see some of his blood on every foot of it.”

“Sounds like fun. Now tell me all tha intel ya got on Stark – an’ then we can go make some noise o’ our own.”

“There’s a maid trying to send her kid to college; I bribed her into unlocking the connecting door on Stark’s side. I have one of my own inventions in place that can control that door, open it anytime – and on Stark’s end, it will still look and feel perfectly secure. I can tell you how it works –”

“Tell me on tha way there. Intel on Stark?”

“He isn’t in the room much during the day, but he usually goes there when the events are finished and the parties start winding down. He’s the only one staying there, his entourage is down the hall, but he always brings the catch of the day with him for an all-nighter.” Danelek smiled, looking smug. “He brought a new invention to show off but he skipped that panel. I got into his suite and stole it. It hasn’t been reported – he probably hasn’t even noticed it’s missing.”

“What is it?”

“It’s some sort of signal booster for a cell phone. I haven’t had much time to examine it, but it looks like you could make a call in Hell. Solar powered, compact –”

“Where is it now?”

“In my room – want to see it?”

“Sure – after tha first fuck takes my edge off. At least ya didn’t try t’ lure me away t’ see yer collection o’ stamps.”

“Sabretooth, I –”

“Call me Victor, boy.” He reached across the table, put his large hand behind the man’s skull, and pulled him into a kiss over the candle. The fool gasped like a hooked fish when Victor broke the kiss. “Gonna expect t’ hear ya scream it out later when I bend yer ass up over Stark’s corpse an’ fuck ya blind. Maybe use ‘is blood fer lube, huh?”

“Sounds like fun,” Danelek echoed him, smirking. “I heard things about you, like … charges of necrophilia…”

“Yeah?” He snagged his coat and pulled it on again, grabbed his bottle, and stood.

“I want to watch you do that – to Stark. Do I need to add to the fee for extras?”

“Bet not – in fact, with an appetite like that, we might could end up besties before long.”

A smile struck the boy’s face that hinted at a desperate hunger Victor had seen before. It was a particularly nasty kind of obsession – the need to possess, and be possessed, by power. If he was right about that, it was going to be a very fun night indeed.

Before he left with Danelek following him like a puppy, he went to the swinging door at the bar and got a delicious full-body hug from Meara. She kissed him soundly and more than a few regulars let out an encouraging whoop at their display.

“Gotta go t’ work, babe – see ya later, promise.”

“You better – it’s been too long.”

Growling low against her throat, he palmed and squeezed her ass as he pushed their hips tighter together – so she could feel what she’d done to him. “Count on it.” Danelek had moved to the entrance to wait. Victor slapped his palm on the door over his head to open it for him. “After ya,” he offered.

“So you play both sides, huh?”

“Yer assumin’ there’s only two sides. I play ‘em all, boy.” He gave him a wolfish grin as he stepped out into the street to cross over to the hotel.

~ ~ ~

The moment they entered Danelek’s hotel room, Victor noted that the connecting door on this side was standing open to reveal the second door that accessed the suite. He could hear Tony Stark directly behind it. He wasn’t alone, of course – there was a female, and the two had already copulated once. Their scents were muddled by perfume, to his annoyance – it smelled like she had dumped an entire bottle of it on him.

 _Drunken skirts, no tellin’._ He had to work on not growling over it. He’d never been close enough to Stark to really capture his scent deep in his lungs. _So maybe wash ‘im later – ya got all night._

Victor listened as a sink ran, and then a refrigerator opened and shut before Stark moved off deeper into his suite. So the kitchen was opposite, likely on the other side of a narrow hall.

After the explanation during the walk over, he could see how the magnetic door device worked and how the man had done it. The simplicity of it – more brash cleverness than gifted genius – started to put Octavius’s opinion of Danelek’s value into perspective. Men like Octavius and Stark were creating things that were changing the world – for better or for worse. Danelek seemed proud of a toy that had helped him commit larceny and the only thing he wanted to use it for was to commit murder.

 _Or find someone t’ commit it fer ‘im – if this is personal like I figure, why don’t he bloody ‘is own hands? Too soft or too scared – neither o’ which is gonna win my respect one inch._ He pretended the science of the door device went over his head to feed the fool’s ego. _A fat ego makes a man pay no attention t’ what’s creepin’ up ‘round ‘im. Guess that goes fer Stark, too – but he’s got me watchin’ ‘is back, tha lucky bastard. ‘Sides, that toy could make all this worth my precious time. All I gotta do is see that it’s left in place after I play with my food. Natch, gonna be a hypocrite an’ take it with me – never know when somethin’ like that could come in handy again._

“Here is the cell signal booster,” Danelek spoke from across the room.

Victor set his whiskey bottle down on a dresser and turned to look. “If ya like those clothes, better shed ‘em; I need t’ fuck.”

“We should make noise and get their attention.”

“Don’t worry none ‘bout that.” Victor toed off his boots and started to strip.

“Should… Should I pay you first – the half upfront?” He wandered over to a briefcase on a nightstand.

“Callin’ me a whore?”

“Definitely not.”

Victor grinned when the man balked and went pale. “Pullin’ yer leg, boy. Tha sex is a freebie. We’re gonna finish this up here t’night. Ya can settle up in tha mornin’. Call tha front desk now an’ arrange fer yer guest t’ get help with a porter an’ a rental car by five o’clock. How long ya got this room?”

“For the rest of the week.”

Victor smirked at the man’s back as he picked up the hotel phone and made the arrangements. When it was done and he faced him again, Victor ordered, “Strip.”

Once Victor was nude, his clothes piled on top of the coffee table over his coat, he watched Danelek undress. “Why ya want Stark dead, anyhow? Sick o’ ‘is inventions stealin’ tha spotlight?”

“Something like that.”

Victor ignored the lie. He’d get the truth soon enough. “Got any other toys? A dildo? Ball gag? Ya seem like tha type.”

“Yes… Why?”

“Yer gonna open yer ass fer me an’ I’m gonna watch.”

As peep shows went, the nerd boy wasn’t a complete novice, but Victor couldn’t concentrate on his too-earnest performance on the bed with Stark so close. He got up out of the armchair he’d landed in and stalked to the door. Deliberately making a racket banging their door against the wall, he turned and dropped his shoulders back against the other one, rattling it as well. It held his weight – so far. Crooking a finger, he motioned for the boy to join him.

“Yes,” Danelek whispered, but Victor kissed him before he could say anything else.

“Changed my mind – no names. Yer gonna draw ‘im with yer good time havin’ noises.” His murmur in the boy’s ear was chased by a low purr that made the gullible idiot shiver.

Impatient, he grabbed him up, not caring if he was ready or not. The boy’s arms circled his neck, one hand grabbing the long braid. Holding the body under the ass and thighs, Victor let gravity help him sink deep into it. Danelek couldn’t move much, but that hardly mattered. Victor just used his arms to lift and lower him up and down his cock. He might have been borderline bored in a few strokes – the boy was too clingy by half, as suspected – but then he heard Stark and the perfume woman taking the bait.

She thumped against the door, giggled, and then cried out. All at once, Victor could hear Stark’s breathing as it turned labored. The first cry of pleasure he made tightened Victor’s balls and made his half-interested dick hard as a rock in one gasp of breath. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the fool he was fucking – willing it to be Stark.

The abused door was stout after all and stood up to the punishment, but Danelek might not – the little idiot hadn’t prepped himself enough.

“I need to move,” the boy muttered. “Holy shit, what a cock – it’s … starting to hurt...”

Stark was getting close, and Victor refused to miss it. He lifted Danelek off of his dick and tossed him backwards onto the bed, not bothering to watch him whine and bounce. He turned and let his dick hit the door, placing his hand on the wood right over where Stark’s hand was on the other side. The stupid cunt with him was loud, but over her squawks, he melted into listening to Stark’s voice as he came.

Underneath it all, he could hear the man’s heart beating fast. It was a slightly different rhythm than most, but he didn’t need to wonder why. Through it, and through the body, the warm blood sang in veins and arteries.

They separated a moment later and the woman stumbled away, laughing, giddy and plastered. Victor didn’t move and neither did his muse.

Stark’s hand slapped the door and then his forehead leaned against it. Another sound overlaid his unique blood song – mechanical, unchanging – a subtle spinning. It was real … he was real…

Victor’s hips thrust to press his cock against the wood along with his forehead. The curling want in his body stole his breath.

Through the wood, Stark’s heartbeat was thumping faster again. He spoke, directing the words at Victor. “I know you’re there, listening.” He drew in a deep breath, as Victor held his. “Thanks, boys – very inspiring.”

Victor’s hand went to the knob on the door like a moth to flame before he remembered where he was and what he was doing. He stopped and listened as Stark walked away. Growling softly, he finally turned and saw Danelek sitting on the bed looking put out.

“What the hell was that?”

“That was me doin’ my damn job.”

The boy snorted and got onto his hands and knees with his freshly slicked up ass pointed at Victor. He tossed the bottle of lube at a pillow and wiped his fingers on the bedspread.

“Perks first, then the job – I need that cock back, thanks.”

“Yes, sir,” Victor answered with a smirk and shoved in, relishing the cry of pain. _They always think they used ‘nuff lube. All o’ me, all at once, hard an’ fast – it’s gonna hurt, less’n they’re used t’ gettin’ fucked by horses._ He pulled the boy’s body up against his chest and moved it with him as he got onto the bed on his knees, settling onto his haunches. “Did ya hire anybody else fer this job before ya found me?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Call me jealous – maybe I want this sweet hole all t’ myself.”

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be a competition.” Danelek struggled to get his feet on the mattress in an awkward squat and began to fuck himself on Victor’s aching dick. “Stick me with those claws,” he whispered. “I want to feel them when I come.”

“Do tell.” Victor obliged him, popping and stabbing all ten of them into his abdomen, deep enough to make blood drip – a lot of it.

“Shit! Fucker! Didn’t ask to be stabbed!”

Victor pulled slightly and the punctures became cuts. “Think ya can come now? Gotta admit, I’d be impressed. This is where tha game gets a new twist; so I’ll ask ya again – did ya hire anybody else fer this gig?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Gonna enjoy takin’ ya apart, asshole, but if ya scream, I’ll open ya up an’ yer guts’ll spill out right in front o’ yer eyes. Capiche?”

He froze in Victor’s hold. “What … is this?”

“This is tha job – Octavius paid me t’ kill ya – seems he didn’t ‘preciate bein’ found out.”

To his credit, the boy didn’t waste time playing dumb. “Whatever he’s paying you, I can double it.”

“Maybe … but first, I’m feelin’ curious – why do ya want Stark dead? I can smell it if ya lie, so … think carefully.”

“He picked me up at another conference last year, in Atlanta. I wanted more, we were perfect for each other, but he wouldn’t see it. He … dumped me after one weekend.”

“Seriously? Wow. Ya know, as reasons yer gonna die go, that’s a really dumb one. Got any dork reminders o’ Stark at home? Bet ya stitched a needlepoint o’ tha date ya met, some fuckin’ swoony thing like that?”

“The date we became lovers. It’s my...” He hesitated, and then began again with all of the broken obsession pain shining in fevered eyes. “He refused to see me … here.”

“Lovers, is it?” The claws yanked a little more. “It’s yer password? What date would that be?”

“You can kill me, or whatever you’re planning to do, but I’m not telling you anything. He needs to die for what he did to me. Fuck you.”

“Excellent idea.” Victor picked up the ball gag the boy had left on a pillow. “Any last words? Like whether ya sent anyone else after Stark? Might let ya live fer that intel.”

“Let me go – I can pay you more and no hard feelings. I won’t bother your boss again, I swear. He has to understand, he has to want Tony dead, too…”

“He ain’t my boss, ya stupid fuck,” Victor whispered into his ear, a purr riding the words. “Sorry t’ bust yer fantasy all t’ hell, but we gotta mutual interest in keepin’ Stark alive. I volunteered myself t’ remove tha threat – it was tha neighborly thing t’ do.” Grinning, Victor forced the ball gag into place and strapped it in tight enough to cut the corners of his mouth. “By tha by, asshole – my rate is one million per hit … but this bit o’ pro bono between businessmen is gonna be a hoot.”

Pulling his claws out, he let the cuts bleed as he began to fuck up into the fool, deep and rough. Any attempts he made to fight were barely noticed. When he got closer to the end, he leaned in to lick the outer edge of Danelek’s ear.

“Fer yer sake, I hope ya really did get a whole weekend fuckin’ Stark; might could make this worth dyin’ fer, huh? Truth is, if tha meat is crazy ‘nuff an’ believes their delusion, it gets harder t’ sniff outta lie.”

At the word ‘meat’, his head twitched to try and stare at Victor’s face. The pupils were blown and he was probably already slipping into shock.

“Ya understand what’s gonna happen t’ ya now, don’t ya? Careful what ya wish fer someone else – it might just happen t’ ya instead. I ain’t gonna come ‘til yer below room temperature, but first … feelin’ a bit peckish – do ya mind?”

The boy tried to scream but only moans came out as the claws cut into him again. Without stopping his thrusts, Victor dug in and began to pull out the rich morsels he wanted to eat. He made the prey watch with clawed fingers holding his chin as his carnassial teeth started to shear up the first organ, but predictably, the game didn’t last long.

Victor hissed as the body convulsed. “Shit, that feels so good on my fuckin’ dick…” When the heart stopped, Victor kept fucking him. “Clean li’l boy toy like ya with a liquid lunch habit, gonna maybe get a chance t’ really enjoy this.”

He thrust until the tract began to quickly cool, the dropping temperature and growing pallor firing a fierce brutal pleasure.

The thrill of sexually desecrating a corpse was a thing the beast within did not share with him, but the hate inside of him for most people made him gasp as he began to come. To keep quiet, he sank his fangs into the neck and shoulder and sucked the chilling blood, swallowing it with greed.

As he thought, only the little limp dick released waste as death claimed it. Victor ignored it as it soaked into the bedclothes and finished his last strokes with a low groan. When he pulled his sated cock from the corpse, he continued to eat parts of it. He thought about the man’s claim of being lovers a year ago. Victor rolled the meat over to its back. He sniffed the slightly acrid scent of the little prick, but either too much time had passed, or too many others had been taken in-between. Growling, he leaned lower and bit the works off at once just in case and swallowed them whole before getting down to the real work of dismembering what was left into neat little portable pieces.

Clean up was a trick and rarely something he bothered with, but he was practiced at that, too. Without getting off of the bed, he used dry parts of the bedclothes to wipe himself down. Once he was sure he wouldn’t get blood elsewhere, he stood and fetched Danelek’s large suitcase. Putting the clothes and other items into dresser drawers, he carefully arranged the pieces of his prey, wrapped them tightly in all of the bedding, and shoved the idiot into the suitcase. He set it on its back on the bathroom floor. After flipping the mattress to hide the few little bloodstains and one yellow bloom, he fetched extra pillows and blankets from the closet and spread them over the bed.

The temptation to enter Stark’s suite was awful, but he managed to resist it. Reclaiming his half full bottle, he nursed the whiskey until it was gone before crashing on the bed. He set the alarm on his phone so he could grab a shower before the porter arrived, and tried to sleep, but all he could think about was slipping through the connecting door. With a huff, he got up, turned the alarm off, and went into the bathroom.

A scalding shower followed by a hot soak was just what he needed, even if he had to hang his feet over the edge of the tub. Reaching out to the suitcase nearby, he gave it a friendly pat. “I had a good time, Danelek – hope ya did, too.”

~ ~ ~

By the time the porter arrived at five in the morning, Victor was dressed and ready to go with his VIP lanyard hanging in plain view over his coat. He had closed the connecting door to hide the device on Stark’s door, and arranged some of the pillows to look like a sleeping inventor. With a smirk, he whispered to the porter to take care and not wake his boyfriend.

He had the suitcase, the cell signal box, and Danelek’s briefcase in a pile for the man to load up onto his cart.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered, “I got an early meetin’ across town an’ then panels here throughout tha day. Gonna let ‘im sleep off last night, check in on ‘im here an’ there – not t’ worry.” His wink only made the man more uncomfortable, which was the point. “Put tha ‘don’t disturb’ sign out, huh? ‘Preciate it.”

After the porter loaded his things into the rental car, Victor tipped him handsomely with Danelek’s cash and drove away with the room’s card key and the keys to the inventor’s house in his coat pocket. He had time to case the joint before delivering his gift to Octavius.

_One man’s trash is ‘nother man’s treasure; could be worth it, an’ it’ll gimme somethin’ constructive t’ do ‘til t’night._

~ ~ ~

Victor grinned as Obinata told him the buyer would be along within the hour and to leave the house unlocked. When he put the phone away, he tucked Danelek’s computer tower and laptop under one arm and tore the framed program down from the wall over the desk.

“Atlanta, last year, three day conference – dunno if ya got anythin’ good in here, but it won’t take me long t’ find out.”

He put them in the trunk with the rest and drove off to South Michigan Avenue. At the crossroads at East Monroe Street next to Millennium Park, he pulled into the covered entrance of the parking garage for Octavius’s monster skyscraper. A security detail stopped him immediately. He got out of the car and grinned when they looked spooked but didn’t back off.

“Ollre hires solid muscle, huh? Good. I gotta gift fer yer boss – if he’s got any sense, he’s expectin’ some kinda proof.” They watched him closely as he went to the trunk and pulled out the suitcase. “Best call ‘im before ya monkey with that – odds are, he’s gonna have special instructions fer it.”

One of the younger men asked, “Sir – what name should we give him?”

Victor glanced at the oldest fellow who had kept his distance and never stopped warily watching him. “Betcha he knows my name.” He got back into the rental car, turned it around, and rolled the window down as he passed them. “Give ‘im my regards, gents – an’ my thanks fer showin’ me such a good time.” Chuckling, he drove away.

Arriving at home again, he had the servants bring in his prizes and place them in the master suite.

“Benjamin,” he called, as he looked over the cell signal booster Stark had made and Danelek’s computers.

“Sir?” the eldest of the servants stopped to await orders.

“Tha rental car – I want it cleaned an’ returned t’ tha comp’ny – in ‘nother state, got it? I don’t care which state. Hey – does yer son still wanna drive t’ Boston?”

“Yes, sir, he does.”

“That’ll work. Tell Lenusya I said he can deliver it fer me, expenses paid trip, includin’ a flight home after. I’ll see he’s paid fer it, too – $25 grand.”

“Sir, yes – thank you,” he said, and bowed.

“Ain’t gotta bow no more, remember – yer free o’ that shit an’ I ain’t no royal-obsessed cartel bastard – just yer garden-variety type bastard.”

“Y-yes, sir…”

Victor smirked at the old man. “Relax. Yer gonna find out I’m easy t’ work fer if yer loyal an’ good at yer job, an’ ya are. Now off with ya – bring me a cold beer an’ then disappear, I gotta get ready fer a date.”

As he drank the beer, he stood still and stared at Stark’s invention on his table. His thoughts were scattered and tangled at once.

_Gonna be able t’ get close t’night – closer than ever … with access t’ Danelek’s room…_

Finishing off the bottle, he set it beside the box and went to select a suit.

_No point riskin’ one o’ tha bespoke ones – got no clue what sorta mayhem could go down. Made t’ Measure designer threads it is…_

Victor stripped off his Cubs shirt and dropped it on the divan in the dressing room, piling the rest of his clothes and possessions on or around it. He undid the braid as he headed into the shower, frowning at the rampant fantasies that began to fill his head and thicken his cock at the thought of shadowing his muse.

_Stark’s not gonna fall int’ my arms – but this ain’t ‘bout what I can get away with, it’s ‘bout keepin’ ‘im alive._

Giving in and working his dick fast and rough, he let the steaming hot water do its work and groaned as he came. Panting, he threw his head back to wet his face and then stared at the fogged glass.

 _I just wanna be close … closer… Wanna see how he looks at me…_ Shaking his head, he growled. _Ya fuckin’ know how – with disgust, if not fear…_ His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. _He already despises ya, thinks yer trash._

Hollow pride tried to rise in his heart, but he couldn’t muster any emotions beyond anger and self-hatred.

_Don’t matter … never would. Just stop any motherfucker from killin’ ‘im … so ya can keep pretendin’ it’d be diff’rent ‘if only’…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I want to hug Victor now, even after some of the things he does. He is so mixed up, and so sure he will be hated and rejected, he’d rather lash out to give people a reason to reject him.
> 
> Meara Ó Donnamháin is another favorite Original Character of mine, but she was born in this story recently. Her name is pronounced “Meer-a” derived from the Irish word mara, which means “sea”. Her son’s name Braden is pronounced “BRAY-den”, but I could not find a pronunciation of the surname, only that it is one of the Irish Gaelic forms of Donovan. The á is apparently said like “ah” as in the word “Pa”, so my best guess is “O Donnamhahn”. If any readers know Irish Gaelic, I’d be thrilled to have your input. I love throwing characters like this into Victor’s life. He needs to have some people who appreciate him.
> 
> It was pure fun to write Victor’s scene opposite Doc Ock. I can so see those two becoming stogie buddies. Also, yikes, I am sooo late in updating my Doc Ock story. Sigh. I need to finish that.  Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm  (@MET_Fic)


	8. Your Skin to Mine

Back of the room, looking at you  
Counting the steps between us  
A hundred and five  
Little blades in a line  
From your skin to mine  
And I feel it  
Eyes on the ground, but I can’t look up now  
Don’t wanna give it away  
My secret  
In another life, my teeth and tongue  
Would speak aloud what until now  
I’ve only sung

Cause I would die to make you mine  
Bleed me dry each and every time  
I don’t mind, no I don’t mind it  
I would come back 1000 times  
You can make me wait forever  
Push me away and tell me never  
I don’t mind, no I don’t mind it  
I would come back 1000 times

Kiss me goodnight  
Like a good friend might  
I’ll do the same, but won’t mean it  
Cause love is a cage  
These words on a page  
Carry the pain – they don’t free it  
In another life, I wouldn’t need to  
Console myself as I resign to release you

Can I, Can I let it go, let it go  
Cover my mouth  
Don’t let a single word slip out  
Wouldn’t wanna tell you, no, tell you, no

Nothing could be worse than the risk of  
Losing what I don’t have now  
I’m weaker by the minute, though  
Is it so bad if I wanna cry out

That I would die to make you mine  
Bleed me dry almost every time  
But I don’t mind, no I don’t mind it  
I would come back 1000 times  
Make me wait forever  
Push me away and tell me never  
I don’t mind, no I don’t mind it  
I would come back 1000 times

~ 1000 Times (Sara Bareilles)

*****************************************************************

Victor wasn’t surprised at how easy it was to get into the bustling Park Hyatt hotel with the VIP badge hanging around his neck. No one around the doors even batted an eye as a black Versace double-breasted number helped him blend into the sea of designer suits. A few people in the lobby took in his fangs and stared, but if he looked at them, they quickly turned away. Most of them seemed to only see the badge.

Arriving inside the first exclusive gathering in a matter of minutes, he couldn’t immediately pin-point Stark, but the excited crowd noise soon told him where the man had to be. It was always the same, but it turned out to be far more distracting without the distance of a stalker’s vantage point between them.

The crowd parted almost without warning and Victor spotted a heavier man in a less fancy suit trying to protect his boss as everyone began to move like a flock of chittering sparrows from one room to the next. When he finally saw Stark, he froze on the edge of the human sea and stared as the man’s scent struck his senses.

Want bloomed and clogged in his veins in an instant. Magazine photos, scopes, and trailing behind from rooftops had not prepared him for in person, close up, and larger than life.

In moments, Stark was gone again with the others and Victor gasped as if the man had taken all the air in the room with him.

_Get a grip, asshole – this ain’t tha time fer woolgatherin’ or moonin’. Since Danelek opted t’ die over sayin’ if he sent any-fuckin’-body else after Stark, this stalker game just got upgraded back t’ a mission. Moon an’ play when ya got ‘im in sight an’ can jump in if he needs ya._

Victor belatedly followed the crowd, slipping into the private VIP cocktail lounge without a fuss after security at the doors saw the badge. He found a corner to lurk in and snagged a champagne flute as it went by on a tray to avoid looking too suspicious. Setting his back against a wall, he watched as the ring of skimpily-dressed model types and assorted sycophants re-formed around the man.

_Anthony ‘Tony’ Stark, in tha flesh an’ just across tha room – be still my beatin’ loins…_

It wasn’t difficult to isolate his scent, but Victor had to stifle a growl at the frustration of all the other scents intruding. Most of them were sharpened into heat, but it wasn’t returned. To his surprise, they didn’t affect him, either – he couldn’t care about any of them, even if they were dripping with it.

He was prepared to disappear if he was about to be spotted, but Stark didn’t look beyond his ring of admirers. They kept putting different glasses in his hand: whiskey, vodka, champagne. He downed them all without a wince as that bright fast-talking voice continued, sharp and sure.

 _Man’s gotta serious tolerance built up._ Victor flagged a waiter down and slapped a considerable amount of cash on his tray folded into the empty flute glass. “That’s fer ya, got it? Ya got any fifty-year-old Glenfiddich at tha bar?”

Eyeing the amount of hundreds in the flute, he answered, “If we don’t, we will, sir – but I’m sure we do.”

“Bring me two highball glasses o’ it, topped off t’ tha twelve ounce mark.”

“Right away, sir.”

While he waited, he took in the sculpted beauty of his mark. The suit was black, its perfect lines obviously bespoke, with a black shirt and red silk tie. When he turned to take another glass, the curve of the tailored jacket showed off the curve of his lower back. He was wearing one of the Bvlgari watches, the blue face with gold; it created a charming color scheme clash. His dark hair was perfectly done – slightly intentionally messy – and the facial hair was a work of art. He was standing barely forty feet away.

“Here you are, sir.”

Victor smirked at the waiter. “From a bottle ‘bout $26 grand, right?”

“It is, yes.”

“Yer gonna go int’ that fray over there an’ give one o’ these t’ Mr. Stark. Don’t tell ‘im who it’s from, kid, or I’ll eat ya. It’s a surprise.”

“Yes, sir.”

Victor took both glasses from the tray, and then put one back. “After he takes it, go bring me tha rest o’ that bottle. Off ya go.”

He watched avidly as the waiter approached his target through the crowd. When Stark flashed that white smile and took the highball glass, he leaned in to listen to the kid. Victor stepped behind the column while Stark glanced around. Watching again, he lifted his glass to his lips and drank when Stark did. The vibrant and zesty whiskey held a note of vanilla toffee and gentle smoke. Seeing the delight on the man’s face and scenting his own smell on the glass under Stark’s hand began to sharpen Victor’s low thrumming lust.

By the time he had traded his empty glass for the bottle and gave the waiter thirty grand for it, he held it loosely by the neck between his fingers and drank from it whenever the restlessness surged.

When a new addition to the pack of admirers changed Stark’s scent, Victor did growl – he knew the boy as a member of the paparazzi. The photographer was a pretty blonde twink, maybe twenty-two, and poured into a tux that might have been far too tight in the slacks on purpose. Trying to ignore him, Victor breathed deep to catch the alluring scent of growing heat from Stark’s body whenever he looked at the boy.

_So much fer ‘is claims o’ bein’ straight – guess that sycophant Danelek wasn’t makin’ up their tryst after all. Natch, he’s int’ wastin’ ‘is time with fuckin’ twinks._

Stark lifted the highball glass and drained the last of the expensive gift. His throat worked beautifully as he swallowed it before handing it off to the woman in red who had been trying to catch his eye since Victor arrived. He made his apologies about needing facilities and the moment he headed for the men’s room, the twink followed.

Victor had to reach down and adjust his dick before he could move. If this level of stimulus continued without release, it was going to start leaking pre-cum. It was rarely a big enough problem to make him regret his dedication to going commando, but this time he wasn’t, technically.

_An extra layer makes it tougher to shift tha thing, though._

Gripping the bottle and growling softly, he shadowed his marks. Stark’s suit made a great frame for his perfect ass, and actually following it in real time began to literally make it difficult to walk. Thoughts of blowing his cover, hitting his knees and gripping the hips with his hands to possess it made his dick throb and his breath catch.

_Focus, moron. It ain’t too far-fetched tha twink coulda made a deal with Danelek, or have some other plot underway. Better safe than sorry. If he managed t’ kill tha man, that’d end yer li’l game real quick._

His lust-saturated brain tried to distract him with the idea that he’d still take Stark cold, but that wasn’t anything like what he wanted.

Victor would have followed them in, but the bodyguard intercepted Stark with questions, so he hung back. The man sounded urgent and concerned as he mentioned the suite. Stark had mastered the art of the classy blow-off and disappeared into the men’s room. When the twink tailed him in there, Victor scented him with care.

_No weapons, drugs, or poisons on ‘im. Odds are, ‘Iron Man’ can take tha shrimp if he tries anythin’ else. Can’t risk attemptin’ t’ go in past ‘is watch dog an’ get on tha radar._

Neither of them reappeared for a while, and they both looked a little disheveled as they came back out. They parted ways quickly, each of them wearing the smell of the other.

Victor sniffed the air and knew they hadn’t fucked, but he’d bet a fortune they were about to. Grinning, he headed to the elevator before Stark could arrive there.

It was ridiculously simple to use Danelek’s card key and enter his room. He replaced the Do Not Disturb notice before closing the door. Odds are, a maid would bring new bedding, remake the bed, and tidy up without bothering to notice or wonder why if she did, that the mattress was upside down.

 _Still, better safe than sorry – can’t risk anybody tamperin’ with my ace in tha hole._ He went through the room and bathroom quickly, but no scents were present over his own, his prey’s, and the porter’s from before. It was easy to ignore older scents. He yanked at the blankets and pillows over the bare top mattress to make them look fixed up. _Tha card key an’ security cameras in tha halls can prove Danelek ain’t been comin’ or goin’ all day, but I don’t plan t’ be here ‘nuff fer that t’ matter._

Once his was open, he operated the device on the remaining connecting door and found himself standing inside number 1803 – Stark’s spacious and opulent suite – in a matter of moments.

Propping the door open with one of Danelek’s shoes just in case, he took another swig from the bottle and then set it on the coffee table in the sitting area. Scenting the place as he went, he headed for the bedroom with his ears pricked up to listen for the doors.

Open suitcases were a temptation, but he only allowed himself to skim over the contents with his palms. He unlocked and opened the windows on both sides of the wide bench seats in the bedroom and the dining area. A diamond-shaped hinge connected to the lock only allowed the window to open five inches.

Leaving Stark’s windows intact, he went back into Danelek’s room and approached one of those. He popped a claw and cut the hinge works from the window closest to the connecting doors. The top hinge would allow it to open enough to be called an escape route, and while it was closed, it appeared to be intact and secure. He had the run of that room to come and go as he pleased, but a window and roof were always a useful way out if anything went wrong, and few things could follow him that way.

Humming the James Bond theme song as he dropped the lanyard on the bed to begin the pile, he took off his dress shoes and socks and carefully shed the Versace suit until he was standing in the jeans and Black Sabbath t-shirt he’d put on under it. With a smirk, he left his phone in the suit jacket and returned barefoot to the connecting door. Glancing down at the shoe to be sure it was in place, he wandered into the kitchen of Stark’s suite and beyond, sniffing and exploring as he went.

He was about to head back to the bedroom when the elevator dinged at a distance and he heard Stark’s voice down the hall.

As they entered the suite, he knew that Stark was drunk and the photographer was only pretending to be. Moving around the large rectangular wood-paneled column to keep out of sight, he smirked at the sound of Stark picking up the bottle of Glenfiddich and drinking from it without a thought.

“We have to hurry,” he told his companion.

“You have to take a moment and relax.”

Stark’s bubbling laugh sounded as they moved to the bedroom; he had carried the bottle with him. Desire clawed at Victor to move, to find a way to watch them. He remained where he was a little longer. Not even five minutes later, the twink came out of the bedroom alone. When he moved to one of the open windows, he lit a cigarette and began to dial on a phone he’d pulled out of his pocket.

Victor could hear Stark drinking in the other room. He went quiet soon after, but he was breathing evenly.

“Hey, I’m in the suite,” the photographer spoke quietly into the phone. “I can get it all, man. I got partial nudes already, and I’ll have the rest in minutes. Action, are you kidding me? How about a few of him sucking me off, maybe even me fucking him, it’s going to be the motherlode – I can just see the headlines now. Yeah, it’s cool. Okay. I’ll call when I’m out. The dude’s wasted. If you want some shots of my jizz dripping out of him, I’ll take one for the team, man. Yeah. Bye.”

Victor’s upper lip lifted in a silent snarl as he began to move. Stalking up behind the fool, he punched him in the side of the head. Catching the phone before it fell, he stuffed it into his jeans pocket as the twink hit hard onto the silver carpet. Grinning, he picked him up and carried him through the connecting door.

Moments after tossing the twink’s phone onto his suit on the bed, he was climbing up the side of the skyscraper in the wind with one arm around the waist of his prey. He dropped the idiot onto the roof at his feet. Razor claws on his toes cut a thigh through the tuxedo slacks. The pain shocked the twink awake. He looked up, saw Victor and screamed. The wind tore the sound away as Victor crouched over him, straddling his legs.

“Hiya, Sammy.”

“How do you know me? Who are you? What the fuck!”

“I know yer in tha habit o’ sellin’ photos t’ tha rag mags – but ya picked tha wrong mark t’night, asshole, an’ yer gonna die fer it. Stark’s mine.”

Concerned about Stark’s condition, he didn’t waste any time. The claws of one hand shredded the front of the tuxedo into strips. When the other hand came up and cut into flesh, the screaming resumed, but no one heard him.

Victor yanked out his favorite morsels just in case anyone started shooting at him later, staring down at the life flying away from the shell as he sheared the organs up and swallowed them down. Just because it had Stark’s scent on it, he slashed off the dick and gulped that into his maw, too.

When he rose, he left the body where it was. He half climbed and half slid back to the modified window. Returning to the suite, he straightened, listened, and sniffed. No one had come in. Stark was likely in the same spot and still breathing steadily, but Victor would lay good odds that he’d passed out. Intending to merely make sure he wouldn’t drown if he got sick, he moved quietly into the bedroom.

Victor froze at the sight of Stark sprawled out at the center of the foot of the bed. His feet were dangling over the floor, still in dress shoes, and his pants and boxer briefs were bunched at his ankles. Slowly looking up, he stared at the man who lay nude from the waist down, his hips propped up by pillows, reeking of booze and out solid, at least for the moment. The red tie he’d worn going to the elevator was knotted around Stark’s head as a blindfold. His gaze lingered, drinking in the sight, even though he had seen it all before – from a distance, through a rifle scope.

He’d been paid to kill the man and had shadowed him for weeks out of curiosity, trying to convince himself that he was only finding out all he could about him to learn his habits for a more efficient kill of such a high-profile target. Then came the night on the roof, when he watched through the scope as Tony Stark and a rather limber woman had stumbled through a drunken night of entertaining debauchery. His finger had left the trigger halfway through the slow desecration of the hotel suite and in the morning, he had killed and eaten the new client who had wanted Stark dead. He’d left and moved on, and months later, Stark had disappeared in Afghanistan.

Victor crept closer, retracting his claws as he reached the bed. He went to his knees at Stark’s feet before he knew what he meant to do. Sliding the shoes and socks off, he took the pants and underwear too, and set it all aside. His tongue licked behind one knee and the man stirred and groaned, and then giggled like a kid. The legs spread as the cock lay against the trail of dark hairs running from the navel to its root.

“Come on,” Stark whispered.

Rising up on his knees, Victor moved between his legs. He saw the bottle of lube at the man’s hip and his mouth stretched in a wicked smirk. Scenting him, he was amazed to smell his heat. The cock was growing stiff in defiance of the amount of alcohol he had consumed. The bottle of Glenfiddich was up by the headboard, bone dry.

Slicking his fingers one-handed, he let the cap close with a snap, but Stark didn’t lift his head or try to remove the tie from his eyes. The moment Victor’s broad smooth fingertip touched his body, Stark spread his legs more, trying to shift his hips up. Gently pushing the beautiful thighs wider, Victor got his tongue on him and used it and the finger to begin to work him open. Leaning over him with his thick finger buried, Victor grasped the pretty cock and sucked at the head. It was circumcised as so many were in this modern age, but it was all he wanted – short of simply taking everything else.

Stark was falling in and out of consciousness, but apparently the blindfolding had been his idea. His hands remained limp at the sides of his head as the sounds he made drove Victor’s body mercilessly into a need he could barely control. When Stark gasped, his body lurching, the warm cum filled Victor’s mouth and coated his long tongue. Opening his mouth the moment he released the cock, he licked a smear of Stark’s cum over the back of his wrist. His fingers rubbed it into his furry skin as he watched the man deflate and settle.

An impatient whine sounded from Stark’s lips in the moments after as Victor hesitated. He knew others might arrive to check on their golden goose, especially after the betrayal of Stane. The risk was high, unless he was prepared to kill them. He rose in one smooth motion and gently propped Stark’s body higher up with another pillow to get his feet on the bed. The bent knees had lifted without assistance.

“Hurry, I need it...”

Between one breath and the next, Victor held his rigid and aching cock in his hand. He hadn’t opened that sweet hole enough, and he might not have time. The elevators were all moving; people were walking and talking in the halls. Scowling at the door, he let his dripping cock bob and worked fingers in again, watching that pretty mouth while wishing he could see his eyes.

“Just shove it in,” Stark muttered, half out of his head.

It was almost there. He set his cock in the cleft of Stark’s ass and let it rub what they both wanted, smearing thick pre-cum over the hole. He set the head and began to push in, pulling back slightly to test how loose he was. He bit back a groan as he pushed in again, the snug sweet warmth drawing his retracted foreskin forward and then dragging it back again.

“Hey,” Stark muttered, “we agreed we were both Durex fans – no glove, no love. Wait – did that grow back?” His hips shifted slightly. “You were cut in the men’s room ... and half the size... Holy shit...”

His hands began to move fast for the tie but Victor grabbed the wrists. Holding back a growl nearly choked him.

Stark’s fear stink burst around them as his body froze. “Don’t...”

A sharp knock on the door made Victor glare down at the man under him – he was terrified, but trying to hide it. The reaction was familiar – a PTSD trigger swiftly overtaking a strong will.

Voices behind the suite door called his name as they knocked again.

“Tony? We just need to know if you’re all right,” a woman spoke.

Then a man, confident, with an authoritative voice, threatened, “You gave her your other key, Tony – give us an affirmative or we’re going to risk embarrassing you.”

Without releasing his wrists, Victor slid a claw out and pricked the tip against the corner of Stark’s mouth as both permission and warning.

“I ... I’m okay, Rhodey. I’m not decent, Pepper, don’t come in here...”

“Okay, but you have to give a speech in twenty minutes.”

“Shake it off,” the man added. “We’ll wait out here.”

Victor lifted the claw when they moved away from the door, but they didn’t go far. For the span of a few thundering heartbeats, he pushed a little more of his aching cockhead into Stark’s trembling body. Teasing himself, he rocked the tip in and out, making the man feel the foreskin move, letting him get a sense of the girth and strength that coiled behind what he could already feel.

“Oh God,” he whispered, “I’m going to be sick. Don’t do this, please...”

The arms pulled against his grip, impressively strong, but still helpless against him. The fingers flexed and fisted, the pretty throat swallowing repeatedly. He wanted to shred the suit to see all of the man, to see the glowing thing he could hear spinning in his chest – but trusting him to not rip off the tie if he let him go was out of the question.

Victor stopped, driven at once by the urge to steal him or to just fuck in deep and use him right here, but he didn’t want to kill the man and if he did either of those things, he knew he could lose control.

Moving the claw to the hollow of the throat, he held it there and carefully backed his cockhead out. It came away with a thin slick pre-cum thread still attached before it broke.

Lifting the claw, he released the wrists but then pricked one of them enough to draw blood. If he didn’t get the warning to freeze, he’d have to knock him out with a fist just like the other man – though perhaps with a bit less force.

Victor let one denim-covered leg press against an inner thigh so he’d know he was right there. He shoved his cock back in the jeans one-handed without fastening the buttonfly and then popped the rest of the claws on fingers and toes. He needed to retrieve the bottle.

Moving to one side without touching him anywhere else and mindful of the lower fangs, Victor leaned over his face, groped for and grabbed the bottle by the neck, and then gently kissed the forehead under the brush of soft dark brunette hair. Stark flinched and nearly cried out.

“Shhhh...” Victor admonished as he backed away and out of the bedroom.

He heard the man grunt and the air moved. When footsteps pelted across the floor, he risked a peek around the corner and saw Stark wrapped in the bedspread as he bolted for the bathroom. That door was slammed and locked seconds before he heard him fall to his knees and throw up.

Moving through the suite, he carried the empty bottle to Danelek’s room, pulling the shoe out of the way of the door with a toe to allow it to shut securely. Holding the bottle in two fingers, he went out through the window. He clung to the wall outside with two feet and one hand. Grinning, he practiced his slider pitch and hurled the empty bottle down into traffic two streets away. Just as he closed the window, he heard the suite door beyond opening from the hall and two people going in.

_Good, they’ll see that he’s cared fer. I wonder if he’ll get t’ that speech or blow it off…_

Victor raced back up to the roof and returned to his last kill. Standing over it in the wind and looking down on the old Water Tower and then out to the lake beyond, he retracted the claws on one hand and yanked his cock out to jack it hard. He lifted the other wrist up to his face and breathed deep, taking the intoxicating scent of Stark’s cum into his lungs.

He caught his spunk in his palm and licked it clean. Leaving Stark’s to dry on his wrist, he stared at the human offal at his feet – this thing that had dared to touch and threaten what he wanted for himself.

Growling, he picked the corpse up and turned away from Stark’s suite below. He carried it to the front where he held it over the edge of the roof. Aiming for the glass and metal curved awning, he tossed the remains down, satisfied when the near-empty husk still managed to make an Art Deco mess as it hit and damaged the structure over the lobby doors on East Chicago Street.

To a chorus of screams, he went back to the other side of the roof and climbed down the side of the skyscraper fast to get back into Danelek’s room. He went into the bathroom and ran the shower, wetting a few towels slightly and then dropping them at the side of the toilet. Turning off the shower, he took a piss and flushed, just in case anyone in the next room over was paying attention. In addition to the towels, he left a couple of drawers open and pulled a random shirt half out of one and let it hang there.

Slipping the suit back on over his other clothes and donning the lanyard, he tucked the twink’s phone away with his into an inner breast pocket of the jacket. _Can’t do much ‘bout tha lack o’ a suitcase, but these inventor types are eccentric, so who gives a fuck?_

He wanted to leave the device on the connecting door, but if Stark reported his mysterious visitor when the cops started investigating the corpse tossed from the roof, that would be the first thing they checked. He could always use a claw to get back into the suite later. Danelek had this room until the day after the conference was over, but by then Stark would be gone anyway.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered to the device, “yer comin’ with me.” Disengaging and collapsing it, he slipped it into a pants pocket of his suit and made sure the door was securely locked.

Yanking the Do Not Disturb sign off the door, he tossed it onto the bed. It was time to let the maid tidy up. Pocketing the card key, he went through the hotel at a languid pace, affecting boredom, and headed to the valet stand outside. Retrieving his car, he drove off for home with the scent of his exquisite muse drying on his skin.

~ ~ ~

By the time he reached home, showered, and pulled both phones from the jacket pocket, his began to ring. He stared with narrowing eyes at Stark’s contact photo when he checked the screen.

 _Ain’t no way he knows who..._ He took a breath and aimed for a breezy tone. “It’s yer nickel – shoot, flyboy.”

“I need your unique professional advice.” He sounded badly shaken, but anger was beginning to color his tone, too.

“What, ya wanna know how t’ fillet scum?”

“Close. I’m in Chicago. We have a serial killer on our hands, according to the police, and I want advice on how to find him. I’ve had a lot more practice on terrorists and I figure it takes one to know one, so I’m asking the only serial murderer I know.”

“How’d ya know it’s a male?”

“I think ... he was in my room. I was with a friend, who disappeared, only to show up as a red smear on the awning of the hotel. Trust me when I say, this mad I’m building is getting very personal.”

“Ain’t really yer scene, hero. Serious overkill: ya don’t use a flyin’ tank t’ find a needle in a haystack, or shoot roaches with missiles.”

“I plan to use just enough kill, and I did mention being accostumed to an entirely different sort of adversary. He uses a knife: short, curved blade. Advice, right this minute, or I’m hanging up. I have to stop this killer – somehow.”

“Well, ya could just ask nicely.”

“Explain that, right the hell now – where are you?”

“New York, if ya must know, but willin’ t’ help ya out. Tha news went national on it, but I didn’t know ya were in tha Windy City. I can go out there an’ hunt down yer killer, catch an’ stop ‘im fer ya. Right down my alley.”

“I wanted advice, not a team-up. Most of the victims were missing organs, by the way – I’d better not find out you had something to do with this.”

“My arms ain’t that long an’ I kill fer money, remember? Pretty high-dollar too, if I do say so myself. What’s yer victim pool, Joe Blow an’ Crackhead Jim? No profit in it, boy. Now if ya want real help, take my generous offer – if ya don’t, feel free t’ waste yer own time diggin’ in that haystack. All ya gotta do fer me is tell me where I can catch tha bastard’s scent – tha prob’ll be over in one fuckin’ night. So am I flyin’ there, or am I leavin’ ya t’ fig it out an’ goin’ off t’ Europe on schedule like I planned?”

“Why would you bother?”

Victor sighed and let him hear it. “Cuz it’s lucrative havin’ ya owe me one? Never know when I might need my toaster fixed.”

“Ha ha. Owing you isn’t something I enjoy.”

“Is hoofin’ ‘round tha concrete jungle playin’ gumshoe fer weeks or months in yer iron union suit somethin’ ya enjoy? Ya been awful busy doin’ tha Yank military’s jobs fer ‘em lately. I can cram one night’s hunt int’ my schedule, but I gotta pull up chocks here damn quick, so make a fuckin’ decision.”

“Okay, you’re on, I’ll owe you one, but I am not going to meet with you anywhere. The trail starts on the roof of the Park Hyatt hotel. How will I know you actually got the killer?”

“Unless ya want me t’ bring ya a severed head, guess yer gonna hafta take no more murders as proof. No more like tha current batch, anyhow. Chicago’s not exactly a peaceful burg.”

“Fine, fine ... and Creed?”

“Yeah?”

“Make it painful.”

“Ooo, I’m impressed, Stark – but I always do.”

“Wait – if he has a phone, camera phone, I need it. It ... belonged to my ... friend.”

Victor smiled and deliberately spoke as if he’d misunderstood him, just to get him flustered and off-track. “Subtle ya ain’t, flyboy – ya must be crap at poker. Why would yer ‘serial killer’ want compromisin’ snapshots o’ ya? Not tha usual slobberin’ stab-happy motive, ya know. I’ve heard o’ Tucker before he turned up dead in tha newspapers, one o’ Chicago’s worst paps. Did ‘im an’ a buddy run a scam on ya or what? Sure yer not just after me cleanin’ up a mess ya made cuz ya fucked a guy who turned out t’ be paparazzi? Gotta admit, tha roof is a clever touch.”

“That is not … no – no to all of the above. The murders, all over this city, are real. You might have seen it on the actual TV news if you weren’t out creating your own. Newspapers, as in print news? Seriously?”

Victor bristled at the tone and hostility. “Look, I don’t care, just doin’ ya a solid cuz I like tha toys ya make fer me. Whether he’s a chum o’ Tucker’s playin’ ya or a real-live Jack tha Ripper – if he has a phone, I’ll see that ya get it.”

“Okay... Thanks – the sooner the better.”

“No prob, hero. On my way. Yer lucky I hadn’t already left JFK fer Edinburgh. Ya can hang up on me now.”

Victor grinned when the call was severed. He went into the study and set both phones down on his desk next to his laptop. It only took a few minutes to copy the nude photos of Stark’s bottom half to the laptop and then send them to his own phone. He put them in the album marked STARK, where they were the latest, but not the only, deliciously explicit images.

He thumbed through the others for a moment and stopped on one of the man’s bare chest – whole and undamaged. He assumed the fetching T-pattern of lightly dusted dark chest hair was now marred by the device that he’d only clearly seen in photos of the suit.

Growling over not having more time in that hotel room, he leaned back in the chair and brought his wrist up to his nose again. Even after licking it off and showering, he could still smell it – and it made him want more.

On impulse, he hit Google and looked the man up again. _Anthony Edward Stark, born May 29, 1970 in Long Island, New York – shit, yer just a damn baby. Went t’ MIT at fifteen, graduated at nineteen with two master’s degrees… Fuck. No wonder yer always hangin’ up on me._ Switching over to images, he opened and zoomed in on a close-up of the man’s face. _Ain’t never gonna give tha likes o’ me tha time o’ day, are ya, pretty boy? Sure wanted a dick in yer ass, though, even after ya got yers sucked off. So much fer tha theory that ya only bottom t’ get a guy t’ suck ya._ A slow grin stretched his lips over his teeth. _I owe Perrin twenty bucks._

~ ~ ~

Victor woke in a cold sweat before dawn and lay panting in tangled and torn sheets. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, but stopped before calling anyone, realizing he had nothing to say to any of them. Snarling, he hit one number. It had been more than enough time to pretend he’d arrived from New York. As the ringtone sounded, he wondered if Stark would even answer it, especially if he saw it was him. When it did pick up, Victor laid back and tried to relax.

“Creed? Do you have any idea what time it isn’t?”

“Landed, just got t’ my digs. Ya sure ‘bout that ‘no meetin’ up’ bullshit? A man does ‘nother man a favor…”

“Can’t be seen hobnobbing with you,” Stark answered, half whisper, half mutter.

“Still in bed, huh? Gotta woman there?”

“No. Was there a point to this?”

Victor frowned, stifling a sigh. “Just tellin’ ya I got here – call it a professional heads-up, assassin t’ hero. I’ll do yer dirty work fer ya t’night an’ then head out. If yer lucky, it’ll be months before ya hear from me again.”

“Let’s hope.” He didn’t immediately hang up. Victor remained silent and listened to the man’s breathing. “Do you know why …” he started to ask, and then added, “uh, never mind.”

“Do I know what, flyboy?”

“Are you ever cruel for the hell of it, to people you’re going to kill?”

“Often.”

“Why?”

“That’s a longer answer than yer gonna be awake fer. Meet me fer breakfast an’ I’ll tell ya.” He lifted his wrist to his face again and breathed in the delicious scent.

“I can’t. The conference has a few more days, but the reason I came won’t come out to play…”

A strange little twist of jealousy rippled through him, but he ignored it. “Who’s tha lucky hermit? Ollre?” When he didn’t answer, Victor added, “My intel says he ain’t a joiner like ya are.” He expected Stark to rise to the bait and ask questions, but he didn’t.

“I don’t know how long I’m going to stay here... I might change hotels.”

“Probly be less secure if ya did.”

Stark was silent. Victor could hear him opening a bottle and drinking a lot from it. “The motive, the things he did – they don’t match the rest of the crimes. Maybe the man in my suite wasn’t the same one that killed all of those people. He could have been after … tech.”

“Ya mean yer light-up toy? Seems he’d go right fer it, huh? If he didn’t, what did he do?” He heard Stark drinking again. _Surprised tha man can speak clearly._ When he realized he could hear him swallow it, his body shivered with fresh lust. “Stark … do ya want me t’ go out there an’ start trackin’ ‘im now?”

“Yes, I do. You’ll know if it’s the right man – I imagine you’ll be able to smell me on him, with the animal senses. Make sure.”

“Tell me what he did.”

“Tell me when it’s done,” Stark countered. “I need … to know it’s done.” The bottle was lifted again, but then the call was severed.

Victor sighed and got up, scrubbing his palms over his face around the fangs. If he made it quick, he could circle the Park Hyatt before it got too light and maybe even go back in for coffee.

 _Leaves zip time fer a shower an’ scrape. Semi-scruffy it is… All this playactin’ could get annoyin’ if there ain’t no more pay-off._ He growled as he went to grab clothes, his coat, and fancy sunglasses.

On his way out, he heard the pitter-patter of Lenusya’s little girl feet at the top of the stairs. “It’s after four in the morning – Victor, where are you going?”

“‘Parently, I just made a promise t’ go out an’ hunt myself.” Glancing up to see her in pink flannel and pig-tails, he winked at her. “Shouldn’t take too long, huh? Go back t’ bed, yer a growin’ girl.”

She shook her head but smiled at his amusement. “Heaven save us from nocturnal restless ferals.”

~ ~ ~

Glad he’d remembered to snag his VIP badge, he entered the Park Hyatt without any trouble, even though he was routed to a side entrance. He had to work on not grinning over the bustle at the front of the main lobby, where all of the yellow crime scene tape hung down like party streamers.

Security was largely an illusion in big fancy hotels, especially with a convention of any sort going on – there were too many people in and out all day and most of the night, with no way to account for them, let alone determine whether they all had a legitimate reason to be there.

 _Sammy Tucker shoulda never been able t’ get int’ that hoity-toity cocktail party last night, but he’d gotten right next t’ Stark an’ then managed t’ talk ‘im upstairs alone. So much fer tha thick bodyguard an’ whoever tha fuck that military voice belonged t’ that went with tha assistant t’ check on ‘im. Fer that matter, any one o’ those drinks he accepted coulda been poisoned or drugged fer an easier kill. Never scented any o’ that shit, but he was drunk before I got there._ Victor shook his head. _No wonder these fuckin’ humans are slidin’ down tha evolutionary food chain._

The badge seemed to include an escort up to NoMI on the seventh floor, as if the conference volunteers and hotel staff wanted to protect their honored guests from seeing anything upsetting. Victor didn’t mind, since he had tracked Stark’s scent all the way through to the rooftop bar and restaurant.

“That wooden corner table outside, by tha edge away from tha umbrellas,” he told his volunteer escort. “Tell tha waitress t’ bring me a pot o’ coffee, ton o’ cream, an’ ‘nuff real sugar t’ uncover fuckin’ Tut’s tomb in.”

“Yes, sir, right away.”

He pulled out the backless wooden stool that gave him a clear line of sight on Stark’s profile across the roof under one of the white umbrellas. He was having black coffee and sitting with the pretty ginger assistant.

“Coffee, sir?” the waitress asked. “Is that enough cream and sugar?”

“It’ll do fer a start.”

“I brought a bigger mug, just in case?”

Impressed, he looked at her. She held a huge white ceramic mug that was almost a stein in dark fingers and was actually wearing a little metal Iron Man pin on the lapel of her uniform. She wore her hair in those pretty dreads and had them tied back with a green ribbon. The uniform could have been too big for her, if she wasn’t about halfway through a pregnancy. Her smile was bright and warm and her scent didn’t carry a hint of fear, even after she’d witnessed his pupils turning to black slits in the morning sun.

Victor pulled the metal case from his coat pocket and slipped on the expensive sunglasses, noticing that she paid the show of wealth no attention, either. “Yer a life saver, darlin’. ‘Preciate it.”

She poured the coffee for him with plenty of room for fixings and left him the pot. “Did you want to see a menu? The kitchen can handle just about anything.”

“If they can bring me a plate o’ sushi sans tha rice an’ seaweed, I’ll call it breakfast.”

“I’m sure they can – coming right up.”

“I like yer pin.”

“Aren’t they fun? I’ll bring you one.”

Across the roof, the girl finished her breakfast and had coaxed Stark into eating a few morsels from her plate. The man sighed, sipped coffee, and put his chin on his palm to look up at her. Victor could hear them easily through the clinks of silverware on plates and the sounds of the city around the patio.

“Do you know the worst part about hangover mornings?” Stark asked her.

The assistant smiled and Victor could see the man bask in it like a ray of warm sun.

“Someday, your life will flash before your eyes and it’ll be ninety percent static?” Her tone managed an impressive sweet sarcasm.

“No. The worst part is having to do all that work to get a new buzz while people are pestering me and trying to hand me things.”

“It was a menu, they’re supposed to hand you those.”

Victor smirked. The twink’s phone was tucked with his in his coat, but how to get it safely delivered?

A nervous and giggling girl, likely not twenty-one yet, came up to their table and gushed a good morning to Stark with more giggles. He was gracious and then his assistant tactfully hurried her off.

The scent of seafood distracted him and he smiled as his waitress set the heavy plate down. He had forgotten to tell her he could eat a lot, but the plate held quite a pile and variety.

“Here you go,” she told him, brandishing a pin. “Do you want to wear it?”

“Tag me,” he answered, and let her put it in his coat lapel. The little red and gold robot head flashed in the sun. “What’s yer name, darlin’?”

“Yvette.”

“Bet people give ‘im presents, huh?”

She looked in Stark’s direction. “Some have. His assistant accepts them.”

“This place gotta gift shop?”

“Yes, sir.”

“An’ ya get off yer shift when?”

Yvette smiled. “I could go now – if you need more sugar.”

“Suddenly gotta burnin’ need fer it. In a box ‘bout yea big,” he gestured a size for the phone. “Gift bag, too – frilliest an’ girliest thing they got.”

“I’ll be right back. Enjoy the sushi.”

With a sigh, but wanting to avoid excess attention, he ignored the knife and fork on the top of the cloth napkin and dug in, awkward and slow, with the chopsticks she’d brought. He was halfway through it when Yvette returned holding a plastic bag.

Victor gestured with the chopsticks. “Have a sit. Want some coffee?”

“No, I’m good, thanks. How’s the sushi?” She perched on the chair opposite.

“It’s good, but usin’ my claws is easier. Is it girly an’ frilly?”

Smiling, she pulled out the gift bag a little. It was pink and yellow with glitter and gauzy ribbons. “The girliest they had.”

“Hand me tha box.” He put the chopsticks down and fished out the little gray phone, popping it into it. “I’ll let ya do tha rest – it needs a woman’s touch.”

She had sat where her back was to Stark’s table. Putting the box in the gaudy gift bag, she wrapped one of the ribbons around the handles and tied it in a bow. “There’s a card – or is this anonymous?”

“Naw, need t’ sign it. Gotta pen?” He took the pen she handed him from her apron belt, and scrawled ‘CREED’ on the small folded white card. “That’ll do. Thanks, Yvette. Can ya chat a bit? Hate t’ eat alone.”

“Let me make the rounds with the decaf, and then I can come back for a little while.” She swooped in to take his empty plate on one pass and then returned, pouring him more coffee before she sat. “If you want me to take it over to him, I don’t mind.”

“After I leave, that’d be perfect. Congrats on yer condition, huh? Is it yer first?”

“Second, and thank you. Do you have kids?”

Victor smiled. “Just one – month or so.”

“Oh, you poor thing – it can be so hard to travel when they’re that age, especially if you have to leave them at home.”

“Do ya like bein’ a waitress? Or is there somethin’ else ya always wanted t’ do?”

“I like it, but I’d rather have more time with my family. Wouldn’t we all?”

“Hmm…” He fished his wallet out and handed her a business card. “If ya ever wanna talk career opportunities, call that number an’ give my name: Victor Creed.”

She took it. “Ryu Foundation. That’s those huge banks springing up all over.” She took in his coat, jeans, boots, and the yellow t-shirt he wore. It had a swords and antlers coat of arms on it, with a caption in black letters: The Knights Who Say Ni. Smiling, she added, “I would not have guessed a banker would be a Monty Python fan.”

“Takes all kinds,” he responded and smirked. “Ain’t ya glad I didn’t ask ya fer a shrubbery?”

Grinning, she chuckled as she slipped the card into her apron pocket. “I’ll hold onto that. Thank you, Mr. Creed.”

“Call me Victor, darlin’.” He fished out an even grand in cash and stuffed the wallet back in his jeans. “Fer tha bill, an’ tha rest is fer gift delivery. Make sure he sees tha card.”

“Oh my, but – that’s too much…”

“Not at all – yer savin’ me considerable trouble an’ bein’ good comp’ny. Glad t’ meet ya, Yvette. Maybe I’ll see ya ‘round, gonna be in an’ out – don’t be a stranger.”

He got up and headed out quickly while Stark had his head down in folded arms on the table. Out on the street at the front of the hotel, he smirked at the sight of workers as they cleaned the glass of the Armani store windows. The hotel’s janitorial staff was hurrying to strip away the yellow crime scene tape in the wake of the police investigation. The awning was still damaged, but the remains of Sammy Tucker had been taken away and the glass cleaned up.

On impulse, he walked off across the street to one of the benches that faced the Old Water Tower and sat. It took about an hour, but then his phone finally rang.

“How did you manage it that fast?”

“Talent.”

“Maybe I don’t want to hear the details…”

“Not gonna give ya none unless ya meet me somewhere.”

“Did you … look at the photos on that phone?”

“Nope. Don’t much care ‘bout yer illicit shenanigans. I’m in it fer tha toys.”

Stark was quiet for a few moments. “Thanks for doing that. Let me know when your toaster needs to be fixed.”

“Will do.” Victor grinned when the phone clicked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to Tony being born in May 29, 1970 (comicverse info), and this story being based in September 2003, Tony should be thirty-three at this time in my story. I’m ignoring the fact that the first Iron Man movie happened in 2008. For my timeline, that movie’s events happened in 2002 and I’m fudging the rest to blend comicverse Sabretooth and movieverse Tony Stark. I’m also going to be using movieverse details such as brown eyes and Tony being five feet nine inches tall, rather than the blue-eyed and six feet one inches comicverse version. Tony in the Iron Man suit will still be six feet six, the same as Victor. Your brain may hurt less if you don’t think about it too much – it works for me. LOL.
> 
> James Bond was created by Ian Fleming. The theme was written by Monty Norman and arranged for soundtracks by John Barry. The joke that is amusing Victor here is from the Bond film Goldfinger, where Bond takes off his scuba suit and he’s wearing a tuxedo underneath it. A bit of trivia knowledge for fellow Bond fans: this switch can be accomplished if a dry-suit is used, not the usual wet-suit. I always wondered about that.
> 
> “The Knights Who Say Ni” are characters from Monty Python’s Holy Grail movie. They kept telling King Arthur to get them a shrubbery. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	9. Pull the Stars from the Sky

I got my head but my head is unraveling  
Can’t keep control can’t keep track of where it’s traveling  
I got my heart but my heart’s no good  
You’re the only one that’s understood

I come along but I don’t know where you’re taking me  
I shouldn’t go but you’re wrenching dragging shaking me  
turn off the sun pull the stars from the sky  
the more I give to you the more I die

And I want you  
and I want you  
and I want you  
You are the perfect drug  
the perfect drug  
the perfect drug

You make me hard when I’m all soft inside  
I see the truth when I’m all stupid-eyed  
the arrow goes straight through my heart  
without you everything just falls apart

My blood just wants to say hello to you  
my fear is warm to get inside of you  
my soul is so afraid to realize  
how every little bit is left of me

And I want you  
and I want you  
and I want you  
You are the perfect drug  
the perfect drug  
the perfect drug

Take me with you  
Take me with you  
Take me with you  
Without you  
without you everything falls apart  
Without you  
it’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces

~ The Perfect Drug (Nine Inch Nails)

*****************************************************************

“Brought ya a prop, Morph,” Victor announced as he entered the west suite at Claudette’s. It was technically afternoon, just barely, but that was apparently quite early for the metamorph. “Ya need coffee?”

“I’m fine. Victor, I’m sorry – I never meant to upset you … before.”

“Blood under tha bridge – just lemme pick tha shape an’ we’ll get along fine.” He smirked as he took his prize out of the filmy gift bag he hadn’t asked for at the fancy shop near the hotel that morning. “I gotta new one in mind, an’ ya need t’ wear this.” He tossed it to the boy where he was sitting naked on the wide window seat.

The bottle was made of metal, glass, and black rubber, filled with a clear liquid. It looked like a hockey puck with a handle, or a tire ripped off of a car with half of the axle still attached. Stamped into the rubber were the words Bvlgari Black.

“Stark.” Morph’s posture slumped a little.

“Anticipatin’ tha client’s needs – I like that.”

“Please don’t call yourself that. You know you mean more to me than this.”

“It’s a transaction, boy. Clock’s tickin’ an’ it’s game on.”

“So you’re still angry with me – for how long?” His hand fisted around the bottle.

“Let’s wing it. Splash some o’ that on fer realism an’ suit up.”

Morpheus sighed and rose to his feet. “Metal suit or tux – or less?”

Victor arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m sensin’ ya get this request a lot?”

“Yes. It’s actually changed the demographic of how many female clients I get. You could call it ‘in the top five’ of requests from women, and some of the men, ever since Iron Man hit the national news.”

Victor crossed his arms over his chest. “Good. Practice makes perfect. Don’t want Iron Man, though – just Stark. Black bespoke suit, black shirt, red silk tie – feel free t’ fill in tha blanks fer tha rest.”

He held his breath as the change began – it was hard not to. When Morph’s Tony stood before him in the beautifully tailored suit, he sprayed the cologne on his hand before setting the bottle on the window seat. He rubbed the hands together and patted his – Tony’s – face, as if just completing a shave. The eyes changed last, and with the cologne helping things along, he could almost believe it.

“Hi,” Tony’s bright voice greeted him. He looked Victor up and down in his boots, coat, tight jeans, and yellow Monty Python t-shirt, the lips quirking into that infamous flirty smirk. “Love the shirt.”

Victor crossed the room so fast that his braid swayed and struck his hip. He took the sides of that pretty face in his large hands and held him still for a kiss. Considering Morph’s mood and feelings for him, the whole experience was better than he thought it could be.

When he let him have air, Tony looked up at him and the expression was full of wonder and fascination. “Are we lovers, then? Or do you want to be cruel?”

The illusion was almost perfect. Victor didn’t let his face go, studying the warm brown eyes. He smelled like Morph wearing Stark’s cologne, though – and the knowledge that the person looking back at him wasn’t the man he wanted him to be sparked his anger again. No matter how alluring the look of adoration and lust became on that pretty face, he knew it was a lie.

“Gonna fuck ya, flyboy – while we’re wingin’ it.” He picked him up and tossed him onto the canopied bed. “Strip it down – let’s compare notes on how that looks. If anythin’s a bit foggy, I got pics on my phone – happy t’ help.”

The clothes disappeared into the body, with the hands pressed over his chest. He didn’t need the photos. “Reactor?”

Victor hesitated. “Naw, listen – bring tha top o’ the suit back.” He moved to grab pillows and stuffed them under the hips at the edge of the foot of the bed. “We’re gonna recreate a moment – feet up here.” He allowed the boy to watch as he hauled his dick out, but then ordered, “That tie should be playin’ blindfold.”

This time, he was able to sink deep when he’d opened him and Stark wasn’t afraid. He moaned and writhed with genuine lust and passion as Victor fucked him, and it felt so good that it was easier to forget it wasn’t real.

~ ~ ~

That evening, wearing a gray Hugo Boss suit and a white silk tie, he shadowed the actual Tony Stark at the hotel. During the conference events, it was easy to blend into the crowds and trail him from a discreet distance. Afterward, when the parties started, Stark ditched all of his handlers and returned to his suite alone.

Victor went to Danelek’s room, opened his connecting door, and flopped onto the perfectly remade bed so he could stare at the locked suite door and be tempted all to hell.

Keeping his ears focused on the sound of Stark moving through the suite, he flinched when his phone rang in his pocket. Growling, he yanked it out and stared at Stark’s contact photo. With a raised eyebrow, he answered it.

“My toaster’s swell so far.”

“Are you still in Chicago?”

Victor wasn’t sure how to answer that. Edinburgh had been an utter lie and this man wouldn’t be easy to dupe. Also, gauging what he’d want to hear was next to impossible. Rolling the dice by the slight note of need in his tone, Victor sat up.

“Gotta go soon, ain’t left yet.”

“If you waited, say ... a day or two...”

The effort not to purr into the phone nearly choked him. “Why would I do that?”

“I need to stay – get back on the horse, all those ridiculous sayings... I can’t tell anyone. What happened ... I can’t, but you already know half of it and I’ll ... owe you two – if you stay until after this tedious conference is over.”

“Meet with me, face t’ face.”

“I can’t.”

“Then why’s it matter t’ ya if I stay?”

“A device I brought is missing. I can’t sleep...”

“I killed ‘im, Stark. Ya can relax.” He got up and went to the door that separated them. Tony was pacing at a distance, likely in the living room. He could hear a mechanical click and whine. _Some part o’ tha suit?_

“Yes – yeah ... of course. No, you’re right, never mind. Enjoy some haggis for me.”

“Not goin’ t’ Europe yet, moved tha schedule. Don’t really see tha point if ya won’t meet up, but ... I’ll stay. Ya know, most folks want me outta tha city they’re in currently.”

“I can imagine.” Stark began to tap his fingers on something in a nervous staccato rhythm. “The device disappeared after the intruder was here. So he’s been here twice – or there’s more than one.”

Victor couldn’t connect himself to the paparazzi’s death and he had his lie ready that the intruder had stolen Sammy Tucker’s phone, but this was Tony-fucking-Stark and giving him that phone was probably idiotic.

 _Can’t be changed now... Wouldn’t be wise t’ bring up Danelek neither, since they had a prior history. Ain’t no severed head I can lay at Stark’s feet t’ prove he’s safe._ “Maybe it was stolen tha same night. Tha way ya keep joints like that hoppin’ back an’ forth t’ tha booze locker t’ drag up more bottles ain’t gonna make ya tha most observant fella in tha buildin’.”

“I need to sleep. I can’t do that here.”

Victor smirked. That was a problem he could solve. “Will they think it’s weird if ya shack up with some sycophant from one o’ those drunken nerd parties an’ take ‘em t’ their room?”

“I generally do that on my own turf...”

“Well change yer norm fer once. Pick up some tasty piece an’ go sleep in ‘er room. Ya wouldn’t be alone an’ any leftover bad guys won’t have a clue where t’ find ya.”

“I suppose that could work…”

“Ain’t ya missin’ tha parties ya need t’ go fishin’ in?”

“Yeah.” He let out a huff of breath and Victor could almost hear the metaphorical bootstraps being pulled up. “Yeah. Thanks for sticking around – pointless or not.”

“Wouldn’t be pointless if I staked out yer suite t’night, see if anythin’ comes creepin’ –”

“That won’t fly. No offense, but I can’t allow that.”

“Suit yerself. Call if ya want – or if ya get brave, tell me where t’ meet ya. Breakfast could be on me.”

“I have to go.”

“‘Course ya do.”

~ ~ ~

“Hello, Mr. Creed,” a friendly female voice called out to him from between the parked cars.

He looked up and recognized Yvette, about to get into a car that had seen better days. Grateful to see a smile pointed his way, he went over and offered a hand to help her into her car. “Hiya, Yvette.”

“Thanks. I have to ask, and I’m sorry if it’s far too forward or completely off base … but you aren’t a banker, are you?”

Victor grinned. “Nope. Let’s call it real estate. If yer curious, I’ll tell ya this much – I need people t’ take care o’ my properties now an’ then. They get paid handsomely t’ live there, an’ tha job is just keepin’ tha place up an’ keepin’ it stocked. Once in a blue moon, I might could need ‘em t’ vacate fer a few days or longer, while I gotta be there. Unless they don’t mind stickin’ ‘round an’ bein’ comp’ny a bit – that’s it. I’m rarely in one spot fer long.”

“So it would involve relocating – anywhere interesting?”

“North an’ South America, Mexico, Europe, Canada, Russia – Japan … an’ South Korea – plus a new house in Vietnam an’ one on tha coast o’ Queensland, in Australia. Wanna buy an island in Antarctica, can’t find anybody willin’ t’ sell t’ me – yet.”

She managed to cover her surprise well. “I would have to discuss the idea with my husband.”

“Wish ya would. Be a pleasure t’ have ya.”

“Why me?”

“Folks that can take me in stride an’ treat me like a regular person are a rare thing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll bring it up after dinner.”

Victor smiled. “Drive home safe.”

He drove home himself, resisting the urge to return to Morpheus and indulge in more games. He changed into soft lounge pants with a drawstring and nothing else, took the braid out of his hair, and went to find Lenusya with his phone clutched in hand – just in case.

She was reading in the library with a thick blanket over her legs as she sat on one end of a large brown suede couch. A leather-bound book of Shakespeare plays was held in her wrinkled fingers. Without a word shared between them, he laid down on the rest of the couch on his side and once she moved the book up, he put his head in her lap. The book settled on his shoulder and some of the fingers began to stroke and play with his hair.

“How are you now?” she whispered.

“I’m alive.”

“Have you eaten? I could get you something.”

“Not hungry.”

“Did you go to see Stark again?”

“Yup. He’s a fine distraction, but in a frustratin’ way. What’re ya readin’?” He let her take the phone and set it on the end table for him.

“The Tempest – it reminds me of you.”

Victor grunted. “Stark won’t meet with me, even though he asked me t’ stay in tha city ‘til he leaves, cuz ‘is suite intruder freaked ‘im out.”

“That’s only fair, since the intruder was you.”

“Didn’t do nothin’ t’ ‘im, not really – nothin’ he didn’t want. Only got upset when he realized I wasn’t who he thought he was with.”

“Did you bed him?”

“Played ‘just tha tip’ – guess maybe it was after he freaked out… He didn’t know it was me, though – tha blindfold was ‘is idea before I got there.”

“Victor … I know you don’t understand a lot of social nuances, but … that is rape, my darling.”

“Wasn’t, didn’t hurt ‘im – could’ve, but didn’t.”

“Physical hurt isn’t the only kind; I know you understand that. Do you want to hurt and terrify him?”

Victor frowned. “No.”

“You like him, you have for years. I’d guess you want him to see … you … as more than just an assassin. How does he make you feel?”

He sighed, relaxing a little with her fingers in his hair. “He turns me inside out. That song _Perfect Drug_ , Nine Inch Nails – he does that t’ me.”

“So that’s why you’re trying to help him, even if you caused the problem he’s having.”

“Killed a man who wanted t’ hire me t’ kill Stark – second time that happened, too. Then took out ‘nother who wanted t’ sell nudie pics o’ tha man t’ a rag mag. Stark asked me t’ hunt an’ kill tha intruder – he actually said ‘make it hurt’. Even I can’t kill me, ‘parently, but takin’ out tha others fer ‘im oughta count. I got ‘is back an’ he knows it, but he won’t meet up.”

Lenusya flipped a few pages in her book. When she read some of it aloud, he sighed again.

“‘Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service.’ Ferdinand to his Miranda.” Her fingers brushed down a sideburn. “Whatever your reasons why – there is no shame in how you feel. If you want something to ever have a chance to grow from it, however – you have to give the man the choice.”

“Ain’t love sweet love,” he retorted, barely holding in a growl. “Dunno even what tha fuck that entails. Thought I wanted t’ try t’ find out…”

“With the girl in New York – the one Ruth called about?”

“Yeah… She’s gone – dead end. Then I fucked everythin’ up with Tabs… Just wanna forget how it felt. Don’t need it anyhow. ‘Sides, it ain’t nothin’ but a way fer people t’ control ya.”

Gently, she shushed him. “Don’t worry about all of that.”

“Now Stark… That’s gone south so fast, gotta wonder if I fuckin’ dreamed it.”

“Do you know what you want from him?”

“Wanna fuck tha man.”

“As a notch in your belt, or something more? It doesn’t have to be ‘love’, neither of us are much interested in that, but sex … with someone you actually want, can be sublime.”

Memories of Bonnie crowded in at her words, but he pushed them away. _Happy t’ take obsessive frustration with Stark over obsessive numb apathy any day._ “Friends with bennies wouldn’t suck…”

“So you want to fuck him, and perhaps … be fucked by him?”

Victor closed his eyes. He knew she never judged, but it was still hard to discuss some things. “Yeah…” he whispered. “Want that.”

“There is no reason you can’t try. Not so long ago, he never would have called you or asked you for a favor.”

“When he ain’t bein’ an arrogant popinjay prick, Stark tries t’ be civil – with or without sarcasm – cuz that’s just how he is, but he don’t like me none. I know when I’m playin’ ‘convenient fiend’ by now.”

“He doesn’t know you. If he did, perhaps –”

“‘Familiarity breeds contempt’.” A low growl thrummed deep in his chest. “Need t’ quit chasin’ these fuckin’ white hats – they take one look at a rap sheet an’ rep an’ walk off with their noses in tha air.”

“Is that what the X-Force girl did? Perrin told me a different story.”

“Perrin should hush ‘bout my biz.”

“You are our business, darling.”

“Stark ain’t never gonna want me. It don’t matter. It don’t…”

“It may not, if you don’t want it to – but if you want him to feel differently about you, you’ll need to treat him differently.”

“I stopped…” he muttered. The memory was changing from gleeful semi-conquest to confusion and a strange feeling of loss.

“I’m glad you did.” Her fingers stroked his hair from his eyes. “Do you want to ask about any of it?”

“He wanted it, was sayin’ t’ come on, sayin’ he needed it – so I started t’ give ‘im what he wanted. He just freaked. Then ‘is handlers were bangin’ on tha damn door an’ he was afraid… Before that, ‘is scent, ‘is heat ... it wasn’t a plan, t’ do it – ‘is heat drove me mad fer it – t’ have ‘im.”

“Darling, I’m sorry – I wish your instincts wouldn’t tangle you up like that. He was afraid because he agreed to be with someone and then they were gone and he didn’t know who was there, or if they would injure or kill him. There was that mess in Afghanistan… It’s possible no one knows everything that happened to him there except him. That information you found out, about Stane – that man was a father figure, someone trusted. He stole the reactor right out of Stark’s chest and left him to die.”

“Guess I can see that…”

“Also, the rest of us without healing factors have many other fears, such as whether we may be infected with a disease – some of which have no cure, and they can kill you. Of course, you can’t catch, carry, or pass on any sort of disease, but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know you wouldn’t kill him, or harm him to steal his technology. For all he knew, that intruder could have done any of those things.”

Victor’s body tensed. He could still remember the heat driving him on and how Stark’s fear hadn’t stopped him – only the fear of injuring him had. Bonnie was dead and he’d wrecked things with Tabitha before he knew he wanted her. If he had already ruined any chance he had with Stark…

“I think that’s enough of that topic – you’re strung tight as wire. Lie on your back.”

He shifted without question. When her hand slipped inside the drawstring pants and began to softly stroke his half-awake cock, he let his eyes close and focused on his breathing. The touch was far too light to make him come, but it did help him relax. He heard her put the book down on the end table and then her other hand was stroking his hair.

“If I pass out an’ start t’ twitch, get outta range,” he murmured.

“Hush… Try to sleep.”

~ ~ ~

Victor was woken by his phone. Lenusya had disappeared and Stark was calling.

His stomach swooped in a feeling not unlike nausea, but the healing factor did nothing to fix it. Taking a deep breath, he settled back and tried to sound unconcerned.

“Whattaya need?” he asked.

“Wow, I woke you up. Sorry…”

“Don’t care, Stark – told ya t’ call if ya needed t’.” His pulse kicked up a beat at the sound of that bright fast voice.

“I just got back to my suite, your plan was genius, actually slept – wanted to tell you I shouldn’t hold you up. I’ll stay at the conference today, but then I’m going back to California.”

Victor struggled to sit up and wake up. “Don’t release tha suite ‘til yer original checkout date.”

“Why?”

“If ya wanna know who’s been in it, I can find out fer ya if I can catch a scent. Maybe even get yer doo-hickey back.”

“‘Doo-hickey’…? The signal box is probably long gone and sold to the highest black market bidder. Some big hunt for it isn’t necessary, I can make a new one; I just … wanted to say thanks. We can go back to being sarcastically distant reluctant acquaintances now, since you’ll need time to decide on a toaster upgrade and I need to get back to work.”

Victor frowned as his ears pinned and eyes narrowed. “Ya got me up at,” he moved the phone to glance at the clock on its face, “six o’clock in tha bleedin’ mornin’ t’ tell me ‘go away, ya bother me’?”

“And ‘thank you’, also… I have to clean up, find some spare sobriety, and get to a speech by ten o’clock or people I care about will skin me.”

“Lemme guess, in tha cold light o’ mornin’ after a decent sleep, ya remembered yer man card was in jeopardy so now ya gotta stand up on yer hind legs an’ blow off tha criminal element before somebody notices?”

“Ah … no, just saying you don’t need to concern yourself now and thanks for the help. Sorry I woke you up.”

Victor opened his mouth for a scathing reply, but Stark hung up on him. It wasn’t even an angry hanging up – hard to do with these little palm-sized phones anyway – but more like an indifferent busy man hang up. Growling, he dropped the phone onto the couch beside him and flopped back.

Finally noticing a white scrap of paper on the end table with his name on it, he picked it up. Lenusya’s pretty loops and swirls handwriting had written a phone number and a short phrase of explanation. He muttered it out loud.

“Goldilocks has questions.” Under that, she had added her assessment: that she liked the person a lot. It was practically code for carte blanche between them. He set the paper by his phone.

Thoughts of Stark persisted, but staring at the bookshelves didn’t give him any answers, and calling the man back just to chew him out sounded like something some needy bitch would do.

 _Already been whinin’ like a moonstruck useless skirt._ He stretched, scratched his balls absently, and went back to staring at the books as time crawled by. _I’m keepin’ that fuckin’ signal box. It can be payment fer services rendered._

Glaring at his phone, he noticed the paper again. Stark didn’t need him anymore but Goldilocks likely did, and it was finally a more humane hour to call a person. Willing to take any distraction at that point, he dialed the number, kept the chatter short and to the point, and made a breakfast date.

_Better than goin’ back t’ tha hotel an’ sniffin’ after that arrogant bastard like I’m whipped or somethin’. Maybe I’ll call on Morph after breakfast an’ see if he’s in tha mood t’ be slapped ‘round wearin’ Stark’s face. Every masochist boy’s wet dream..._

He got up with a grunt, grabbed the phone and paper, and headed for a shower.

 _Gonna dress t’ tha nines, one o’ tha_ _bespoke suits, maybe – show tha li’l gal tha sorta life she could have. Maybe I’ll even bring ‘er a present. Hellfire, might just give ‘er Danelek’s briefcase cash an’ take ‘er shoppin’ before we go t’ breakfast._

In the shower, he jacked off twice, just to wear the edge down from both anger at Stark and the heat his voice alone had sparked. By the time he was rinsing shaving cream off of his neck, wearing a towel around his hips and another over his shoulders with his hair rolled in it, he heard Lenusya coming into the master suite. She arrived and leaned in the bathroom doorway in time to watch him put Agua Brava cologne on.

“Considering the cost of the suit you laid out, you could let me choose a more expensive cologne to match it.”

Victor glanced at her in the mirror and saw a mussed and tired teenage girl with a ponytail dressed in a fluffy green robe. “I like this stuff, it smells like tha woods o’ home.”

“So are you meeting your Goldilocks or going to see Stark?”

“Done with Stark. Gotta breakfast date with Goldilocks, might take ‘er shoppin’ first.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

He took his wet hair out of the towel and began to rub it dry. “Shoot.”

“Switch the black for something more striking. Your companion is fond of color and making heads turn.”

Victor smirked at her. “If ya wanna play dress up with yer feral paper doll, get outta tha underage years first – ain’t strippin’ down with ya lookin’ like that.”

“Very well. I’ll be in your dressing room laying out your clothes. You’re going to let me put your hair up, too.”

“Picky broads,” Victor muttered, trying to keep a grin off of his face.

When she returned, she was a Russian June Cleaver again with salt and pepper hair. Victor turned the stout wooden chair she brought backwards and sat on it with arms folded on the back. He set his broad cleft chin on his crossed wrists and let her do whatever she wanted with his hair. It took longer to get it dry than it did to put it up. He scrunched lower on the chair with pinned ears while she had the hairdryer blowing a racket around his head.

“Moments like this make me wonder if you would run from a vacuum cleaner.”

“Hardee har. Hate those air guns.”

She pulled the middle of the length upward and wound it into a bun higher up at the back of his skull than he typically did himself, and set it with the new hair stick blades she had given him last Christmas. He started to get up, but she pressed down on one shoulder to keep him there and began bringing out selected locks to be loose from the bun on the sides. They would hang down around his shoulders with the ends of the length of it at his back. From the front, it looked like he’d cut about four feet of it off and gave him a decent freedom of movement without cutting it at all.

“It don’t hide tha ears.”

“We aren’t trying to hide anything. Don’t put on any bones, teeth, or any of that ‘barbarian couture’, either.”

“Have it yer way,” he groused, though secretly pleased. She probably knew it. He got up and handed her the towel, walking off nude to go dress. When he appeared downstairs with Danelek’s briefcase, Lenusya met him in the foyer. She was still in the bathrobe, but carrying one of her king’s ransom big purses. “Well?” he asked.

She smiled and approached. “You look quite able to turn every head you pass.”

Victor smirked. She had chosen the newest arrival from Huntsman, one of his favorite tailors in London at 11 Savile Row. Companies that were older than him were often his favorite. It was a plum double-breasted bespoke suit with a teal shirt. The tie was plum and teal in a geometric pattern, with a pocket handkerchief. The tie tack and cufflinks were amethysts set in platinum. He was holding his Luxuriator sunglasses and the keys to the silver Aston Martin V12 Vanquish in his other hand.

Lenusya took the briefcase and he followed her to the lounge. She placed the cash inside the fancy purse. “You can’t expect a lady to lug that man thing around.”

“I def ain’t luggin’ a purse, neither.”

She chuckled. “I’ll put it in the car for you.”

Victor kissed her cheek and let her follow him out to the garage.

~ ~ ~

Goldilocks was perfectly coiffed and poised in yellow chiffon to the knee with blonde curls cascading around her shoulders over the white mink coat. A delicate cream-colored scarf adorned her throat and not one man around them knew she was a male – they were too busy staring at her long legs, or her slender feet in cream stilettos. A platinum chain dangled above her cleavage and the diamond winking there was overshadowed by her smile.

Victor sat across the table and smirked when she laughed. She was fascinating.

They were surrounded by brunching businessmen and tourists at the patio café of the Tavern on Rush steakhouse, a pricey spot on North Rush street. It was in the Gold Coast area and close enough to home to be a favorite, a choice helped along by the horseracing theme in the indoor dining areas and the bar. The patio was one of the best places to see and be seen, and after their shopping had taken them from breakfast to brunch, he intended to give them both a chance to show off.

He had enjoyed intensely watching her eat crab cake benedict with both gusto and perfect manners. The fact that she hadn’t commented on how he’d eaten his filets with shrimp just made the meal even better.

“So ya like livin’ here, or would ya rather pick ‘nother city?”

Goldilocks touched the back of his hand with perfectly manicured fingertips – the long nails were painted to match the scarf. “I adore Lenusya. Couldn’t I just stay with her?”

“Ya could, but there’s way more rules involved in livin’ there than in some o’ my other houses.”

“Rules like ‘you can’t invite your friends over’? Or tell anyone about you?”

“Among other things, yeah. Lenusya’s one o’ my partners – ya could be yer own boss more in ‘nother location.”

“I don’t really have friends. You and Lenusya are the first people to be kind to me – or even to acknowledge me – ever since my family threw me away for wanting to wear dresses. I could be a helper for her, keep her company. She’s lonely, I can tell.”

“Meet with ‘er on that topic, she can tell ya what ya’d be signin’ up fer. If she says yes, it’s fine with me. Now if tha rules an’ regs spook ya, we can set ya up in ‘nother house where ya only gotta deal with me once in a blue moon.” Victor gulped more of his sugary coffee. “Either way, ya’d still be in contact with ‘er – she’d be yer boss.”

“I’d rather be her assistant in person. I don’t like to be alone and I need ... something constructive to do.”

“Well, call ‘er then, sort it out. I think I can trust ya, if she does. That job would def involve more perks – she gets spoiled rotten.”

The fingernails lightly scratched his hand as her scent warmed. “Are you one of those perks?”

“Sometimes – but not required. I try not t’ get in tha habit o’ fuckin’ tha employees – an’ I ain’t tha stayin’ kind.”

“You ‘try’, huh?” She winked at him.

“Yeah, an’ I often fail, if that sweetens tha deal any, but if ya aim t’ play, I’d wanna do that before – an’ after.” His smirk stretched into a lascivious slant. He was prepared to pay a fortune to give her the body she needed in order to be happy in her own skin – but he saw no point in wasting the one she had now.

He allowed her to pick his hand up, to suck on the index finger while everyone around them stared. She kissed the smooth place where she had seen the claw tear free before and then released his hand.

“I would like that.”

She was more than intelligent and ambitious; she was a siren and could be a serious asset to the organization – on her feet as well as on her back. She leaned her elbows on the table as he watched her, the arms making the cleavage swell.

“Ya gotta show me how ya do that.”

“You want to know all of the magician’s secrets?”

“Yup. ‘Specially how ya keep tha conspicuous stuff from showin’ in a filmy frock like that.”

“Shall I show you now?”

“After ya talk t’ Lenusya. Get that settled. Won’t make a diff’rence where ya live far as I’m concerned, I can fuck ya anywhere.”

“I hope that’s a promise.” She added more sugar to his coffee.

Victor drank it, smirking again over the rim. “What’re we callin’ ya, by tha by? Ain’t gotta be stuck with ‘Goldilocks’.”

She took his spoon and licked it before sending it down her throat. When it was returned to the table, he was grinning at the scents of heat and looks of shock around them. His custom-tailored suit pants seemed a little tighter as well – as theirs likely did.

“I want to be Wilhelmina Fredericks, so that I can go by Mina ... but you can always call me Goldilocks. Any requests on details? Cup size preferences, for instance?”

“That’s purely up t’ ya, darlin’. One, I can have fun with any type, an’ two, don’t never change yer body or any damn other thing ‘bout ya based on what some other fucker wants. Has t’ be what ya want fer yerself.”

As she smiled and watched him with heavy-lidded bedroom eyes, her heat rising enticingly, he took out his phone and called Lenusya.

“C’mon an’ meet us t’ take this delicious creature t’ lunch. Yer call on placement, whatever ya want’s fine with me. I got t’ get t’ ‘nother appointment.”

Lenusya didn’t bother to hide a chuckle. “I assume the two of you have hit it off?”

“Yeah – I think she likes me.” He winked at Goldilocks. “She needs t’ know what’s required if she’s serious ‘bout bein’ yer personal assistant an’ roommate.”

“Of course she likes you – anyone with a taste for alpha males and enough sense to see the beauty in nature, would. ‘Tiger, tiger, burning bright...’”

“Get over here before ya make me blush – gotta rep t’ protect as a grumpy bastard, ya know. Wear somethin’ snazzy an’ have Marcus bring ya in tha Doozie.”

When Lenusya arrived and Marcus offered his hand to help her out of the gray Duesenberg, she was dressed like a movie star in a black with gold brocade Alexander McQueen dress with her long black hair piled on top to show off her gorgeous neck and her emeralds. Victor enjoyed his companion’s stunned reaction.

“Ya realize that there is tha same woman, right?”

“Yes, she told me...”

“If ya also like that sorta thing, make a play fer ‘er in tha ‘after phase’. She’s pretty fond o’ blondes, but not int’ tha dangly bits.”

~ ~ ~

The moment Morpheus became Tony Stark, Victor raised a hand to strike his cheek with the backs of his knuckles. The metamorph didn’t flinch or move, but the blow never fell. Growling, he stalked around him to the bed. He shed his suit and shoes as he went, tossing the suit onto the window seat.

“Get over here an’ fuck me.”

Tony’s beguiling mouth twisted into a dismissive smirk. Victor would love to accuse him of dipping into his own expressions, but he had photos of that one on the inventor’s infuriating mug.

“Does this mean the honeymoon phase is over?” One pretty brown eye winked at him.

Victor snarled and slapped his hardening dick instead. He settled on his back and glared at the boy with a huff of breath. “Shut up an’ fuck.”

He stared up at the mirror on the underside of the canopy and watched the muscles of Stark’s smooth pale back move as he impaled himself on his cock.

That fleeting feeling he’d had before, that it could almost be real, was gone. He brought his wrist up to sniff at the lingering scent of Tony’s cum, but his bedmate couldn’t smell like Stark even if they doused him with the rest of the Bvlgari Black.

~ ~ ~

Two rounds later, with pseudo-Stark panting beside him, Victor reached for his phone. He hit the speed dial for the real deal but the man didn’t answer it. The conference agenda would turn into party central soon enough.

 _So much fer that…_ Growling, he skated the phone onto the nightstand and thought about what he could do when an idea abruptly made him chuckle. He nudged Morpheus with an elbow. “Get up, Stark. We’re goin’ on a road trip int’ town.”

“I’m not supposed to leave with a client for work without arranging it with Claudette ahead of time.”

“We’ll beg forgiveness after, askin’ takes too fuckin’ long. She can fig out what t’ charge me, she’ll go nuts, it’ll be fun fer ‘er.”

“Where are we going?”

“Tha Park Hyatt’s Water Tower Suite. Here, be this guy fer tha trip. Ya can play Stark when we get inside the suite.”

He fetched his phone and punched up a photo of Danelek standing with Stark at the conference in Atlanta.

“Who is he?”

“My ticket t’ a really good night. C’mon, move it, gotta be quick. If we get there in time, I’ll let ya borrow tha car fer yer day off t’morrow. Also, be handy on tha way out when we’re done, if ya put this guy back on an’ check outta tha hotel fer me.”

“You killed him, didn’t you?” Morpheus smiled as he changed and became George Danelek.

Victor had risen and used a piece of sheet to wipe off with before pulling on his suit pants. “Whattaya think?”

Morph-Danelek handed him his dress shoes once Victor got his socks on. “Did you eat him?”

The glee made Victor smile, his first since he’d arrived to see the boy. “Yup. Tasted like yard bird, most o’ ‘em do – not sure why they call it long pig at all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Lenusya stated, she was reading from Shakespeare’s "The Tempest". That was Ferdinand to Miranda in Act 3, Scene 1. “Familiarity breeds contempt” is a proverb. “Tiger, tiger, burning bright” is from the William Blake poem "The Tyger". “Yard bird” is slang for chicken; “long pig” is slang for human flesh eaten by humans. Allegedly, the closest thing to what human flesh tastes like is pork. Victor would certainly know that, but he's going for the joke.
> 
> Lenusya is a lesbian, but stroking Victor to relax him in a non-sexual context is a trick she picked up from Perrin, my original character in my story Redemption, to which this story is a sequel. Needless to say, Lenusya and Victor have very customized (if sometimes seemingly odd) boundaries. Victor’s needs can at times seem unusual, but those who care about him have learned how to deal with that. I deliberately haven’t defined Lenusya’s mutant gifts too clearly, but Victor did meet and rescue her from a Russian crime ring that was dealing in human sex trafficking when she was ten years old. They have known each other for many decades, but once she reached puberty, they discovered that she can move her body anywhere along a scale of her potential ages. She could morph into a woman at age thirteen, and after having chronologically reached the age of seventy-five, she can also morph her body anywhere back along that age up to being a small child again. She retains her mind, experience, and knowledge of the chronological age of an old woman, but she can become any age younger than that at will. She can’t change into other people like the true metamorph that Morpheus is. It is unknown at this time (to them, I haven’t decided yet) whether this means she may be able to live for a very long time. I tend to think of it as a finite situation, but that she may be able to live far longer than the average person.
> 
> I randomly thought that Bvlgari Black would be a cool cologne for Tony to use, though probably not the only one. Mostly, I thought the bottle was awesome. Victor’s cologne is Agua Brava by Antonio Puig, launched in 1968. Among other things like Lemon and Juniper, its top notes include sage and lavender, scents we know Victor likes from my Overdrive tale. Pine is a chief heart note in it, for his love of Northern forests, and among its base notes are moss, sandalwood, musk, patchouli, and leather. This isn’t an expensive cologne, per se, but then in 1968, Victor wasn’t rich yet anyway. I wanted something to have sandalwood in it, similar to Logan’s Farenheit by Dior, but to be different and to smell “woodsy”. This one seemed perfect. Later on, I may have him experiment with some of Tony Stark’s cologne choices, but he’ll likely return to Agua Brava as something familiar that can give him the scent of forests when he can’t be in one. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	10. Closer While Farther Away

You let me violate you  
you let me desecrate you  
You let me penetrate you  
you let me complicate you  
Help me - I broke apart my insides  
Help me - I’ve got no soul to sell  
Help me - the only thing that works for me  
help me get away from myself

I want to fuck you like an animal  
I want to feel you from the inside  
I want to fuck you like an animal  
My whole existence is flawed  
You get me closer to god

You can have my isolation  
you can have the hate that it brings  
You can have my absence of faith  
You can have my everything  
Help me - tear down my reason  
Help me - it’s your sex I can smell  
Help me - you make me perfect  
help me become somebody else

I want to fuck you like an animal  
I want to feel you from the inside  
I want to fuck you like an animal  
My whole existence is flawed  
You get me closer to god

Through every forest, above the trees  
Within my stomach, scraped off my knees  
I drink the honey inside your hive  
You are the reason I stay alive

~ Closer (Nine Inch Nails)

*****************************************************************

“Why not just go in as Stark?” Morpheus clutched at the door when Victor gunned the engine around a turn.

“Cuz we dunno if he’s left yet.”

“People are myopic sheep; they’ll just think he went by again. Unless I run into him, they won’t pay attention for more than five minutes.”

“Pretty an’ cynical – my kinda guy.”

“You’ve picked up a cop – are you going to pull over?”

“What tha fuck fer?”

Morpheus laughed. “You are sheer perfection.”

The silver Aston Martin Vanquish purred and roared through its V12 paces, leaving the police car in the dust until they screeched to a stop at the valet parking podium. The piercing siren made Victor’s ears pin down as a growl sparked. He twitched when Tony Stark spoke beside him.

“Let me take care of it, gorgeous.”

If his passenger door hadn’t opened for the person who smelled like the metamorph, he would have been seriously angry to be ambushed out of the blue. He still wasn’t sure if the surprise of the transformation impressed him more than it pissed him off.

“Mr. Stark! We didn’t see you. Our apologies, sir.”

Victor turned his head to look back and had to smirk – Morpheus was signing autographs as Stark for the cop and his partner, who were fawning over him.

Stark’s bright smile was beamed at him when the man came up to the driver’s door. “I think we’re set. Shall we go in?”

Snorting his belated amusement, Victor shook his head at him and got out of the car. He tossed the keys to a valet. “A fella named George Danelek is gonna pick up tha car later, got it? Ya know ‘im?”

“Yes, sir.”

He followed Morph-Stark to the front desk and let the smirk stretch into a grin. He was perfect.

“Did my assistant check me out yet?”

“No, Mr. Stark. Weren’t you keeping the room until tomorrow as planned?”

“Yes, but I lost my key card – be an angel and get me another?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

In the elevator, Victor punched the button for the eighteenth floor. Morpheus was grinning with Stark’s face beside him.

“That was nuts. Get outta that ‘til we know he’s gone an’ I get a chance t’ search tha suite.”

“George Danelek it is.”

“Ya didn’t need t’ ask fer a key card, I got one fer tha connectin’ room.”

“Stark is scatterbrained, they won’t even wonder about it.”

“He kept tha suite…” Victor muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothin’.” He got to the suite door first and listened. “Nobody in there. Yer up.”

Nothing personal remained in any of the rooms – except the scent. It was the most pronounced in the bedroom, layered with the smell of sex and booze. Taking off his sunglasses, Victor set them on a dresser and then wandered into the bathroom, touching the fixtures at the sink.

“We’re locked in; the ‘go away’ sign is on the door.” Morph-Stark leaned in the doorway. Their eyes met in the mirror. “What do you want?”

Victor turned, grasped his face in both hands and kissed him. “Just be Stark, wallow in it.”

Their lips touched as he asked, “Do I like you? Or are you breaking in and forcing me – again.”

Victor pulled back slightly to stare into Stark’s eyes. “How do ya wanna do this, Morph? How do I make ya feel?”

With a groan, Stark’s lips kissed him. The inventor’s voice spoke with seamless perfection, husky with lust like Victor had never heard it before. “Oh, I like you – especially naked.”

~ ~ ~

He was drowning in the scent of the man he wanted as the boy who could give him that man lay panting under him. Victor leaned in to nuzzle and sniff at his throat, and if he worked at it, he could focus on Stark’s scent on the pillow over Morph’s scent in the dark hair. It was enough.

~ ~ ~

“It’s going to be morning soon,” Stark told him, kissing his brow. “There’s a poem about it…”

Victor closed his eyes. “Tell me…”

“Deep in the night, just before morning would try to begin … struggle, fail, and finally win. Two lie like one in warm embrace, and try not to think of what they must face.”

Victor sighed. “Claudette wrote that.”

“I’m sorry, but … we need to go back – I … need to go back. You didn’t want me to ruin what I have, working for her…”

“She’d be mad at me, not ya.”

“Victor…”

“Not yet.” Victor rolled onto his stomach. He buried his face in his folded arms for a moment and then got up to wait quietly on all-fours. “Be ‘im once more, do this fer me, an’ I’ll never ask ya t’ be ‘im again.”

The hands touched his hips. He knew the boy wanted to – knew he had always wanted to.

“Hard or soft?”

“Don’t matter…”

When he spoke again, the voice was Stark’s. The words bloomed into a need he could barely control.

“You’re so beautiful. Victor… Be still and let me…”

The moment it happened, a growl began, low in his chest. He leaned down onto his forearms, struggling to keep the claws sheathed. The pillow smelled like Stark. He breathed it in like a drowning man … as Tony thrust deep inside his body.

~ ~ ~

Victor woke in a cloud of Stark’s scent. Down the hall, a cleaning cart was approaching. Morpheus was transforming into Danelek across the room as the morning sun crept over the floor.

“We need to hurry.”

With a groan, he sat up and stretched. Getting dressed was something he accomplished almost on some sort of autopilot. After the boy put his hair up again for him, Victor huffed out a breath.

“Take tha car, go have fun. I’m gonna walk. I’ll call Claudette later, but if she grouses at ya, blame everythin’ on me. Here,” he added, and handed the boy Danelek’s key card from his wallet. “Check outta tha next room fer me before ya go.”

“I will.”

“Leave ‘is clothes or take ‘em, don’t matter t’ me – ain’t no suitcase, though.” He pulled quite a few presidents out of his wallet before pocketing it. “‘Run an’ play’ funds,” he added, closing the boy’s fingers around the folded bills. “Go on – we shouldn’t be seen t’gether.”

“Are you leaving the city?”

“Dunno yet. Gotta go see a friend.”

“All right. Victor – it meant a lot to me. Don’t worry, I won’t ask why.”

“Smart boy. I gotta tell ya it’s my private biz?” He picked up the sunglasses, allowing his claws to clack on the top of the dresser before he slid the lenses over narrowing eyes.

Morpheus straightened with bruised pride. “No. I won’t breathe a word, to anyone.”

“Good. Off ya go.”

Victor left the suite moments after the elevator took the boy down. When he turned the corner to punch the button, a maid flinched when she saw him and then tried to smile.

“Mornin’,” he told her, and stepped into the elevator car.

~ ~ ~

Across the street from the hotel, he approached his pretty redhead as she was leaving Pippin’s Tavern. “Back as promised, darlin’,” he called out to her.

She turned, shading her eyes with her hand. “Victor! Good morning!”

“Yer not goin’ t’ open up, are ya? Didn’t think I slept in that late.”

“Rachel and Kenny are, I had to bring a key – she’s always losing hers. We left the place a mess last night so they’re starting clean up early. I’m off until tonight and Braden’s with my mom. Isn’t it strange how the fates are aligned?”

He kissed her cheek when he reached her and offered his hand. “Will wonders never cease. Would ya like a gent t’ walk ya home, since it’s such a long way?” He winked at her.

“I would. Oh my, what a dapper gent you are. I love that suit.”

They walked to the corner at the crossroads of East Chicago and North Rush. Her tavern was behind them, in the shadow of the Park Hyatt. Across East Chicago, they stopped at the Chicagoan building. She had lived there in an expensive three bedroom apartment ever since her second divorce. It was worth every penny to know she was safe, and close to work.

She threaded her fingers in his as they walked down the wood-paneled hall to the elevators and headed up. The apartment was perfectly clean and decorated as if ready to be shown off. Many windows framed spectacular views of the city, and her personal things had always been kept orderly. It looked like nothing had changed.

“Ya keep tha cleanest house I ever saw.”

Meara laughed. “You haven’t seen Braden’s room yet. Are you sure you don’t mind me subletting it here and there?”

“Don’t mind, but if ya ever need money, just call.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Rather get outta tha monkey suit an’ get ya in bed, darlin’.”

He never played blood games with this one, or tried to lead her into kink. She was a sweet girl in love with romance and that was just the way he liked her. Her Irish fire kept it interesting, and he didn’t have to pretend – she knew, and didn’t care, that he was an assassin for hire.

They helped each other strip in her soft mint green painted bedroom. When he picked her up and placed her gently on the peridot silk comforter, its white embroidered vines and leaves framed her voluptuous body beautifully. The freckles wandered everywhere on her pale smooth skin and he wanted to kiss them all. He began by kissing the ring on the middle finger of her right hand. It was an antique silver setting with three peridot and diamond flowers adorned with silver vines.

“I love it,” she whispered. “Best Christmas ever.”

“Ain’t as pretty as ya, but it suits ya.”

“Victor…”

She held his head as he suckled her pink nipples, her fingers carefully removing the metal hair sticks Morpheus had replaced for him to allow his hair to tumble around them. As he moved down her body, she grabbed up large handfuls of its length and covered herself with it as he slipped lower out of her reach. When he made her shudder and come with his mouth, her hands tugged on his hair. She reached for him, tried to pull him up, and giggled when he growled playfully at her.

He got his fingers into her curling ginger mane when he entered her smoothly and kissed her deeply as he thrust, slow and gentle. The way she touched him reminded him of Tabitha, and his heart lurched.

Meara knew him well. He could tell that she was aware something was wrong but she didn’t ask about it. She gave herself over completely to his needs, and let him fill her and taste her as long as he wanted.

The windows were full of lights surrounded by darkness by the time he came with her sweet cries in his ear and knew he was finally sated. He moved off of her and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair with his forehead on her shoulder.

She played with his curls and made him purr as she rubbed a fingertip gently up the outer edge of his pointed ear.

“If I end up wanting another baby someday, what if I talked you into helping?”

Victor grunted. “I’m fond o’ cubs, darlin’, but if it turned out t’ be a mutant, that can complicate yer life a lot.”

“You don’t complicate my life.”

“Ya know, they say tha Irish are crazy…” He smirked when she poked his ribs. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.”

“No strings, no falling in love – I remember all the rules. Tell me this – are you okay?”

“Dunno. Will be…”

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Probly.”

She sighed. “I have to go to work soon. Let’s go shower.”

~ ~ ~

When they walked into Pippin’s Tavern together, the regulars cheered and made her blush. With a broad grin, she let Victor pull her into a tight embrace and kiss her in front of them all before she started affectionately berating them for cheering again.

Victor sat at the bar and drank just to watch her, trying to keep his recent failures at bay. He’d have to face Claudette sooner or later, but if he left town, he’d have the excuse of doing it on the phone.

“Evening,” his newest barstool neighbor said as he sat down. One glance had him pegged as current or ex-military. “I believe we should discuss a business venture you would likely be perfect for.” As Victor faced him, the man stuck out a hand. “Name’s Gorman.”

Victor took it and squeezed, but the man was equal to it. “Creed. It’s yer nickel – shoot.”

“You look like one hell of a tracker, a hunter. I need something big brought down.”

“What’s tha target?”

“Classified, until such time as you agree to hear me out somewhere more private – but it’s going to pay a million. Are you afraid of the cold?”

Victor’s upper lip curled. “Ain’t afraid o’ shit. Where’s tha job at?”

“The Arctic Circle.” The man stood. “Take my card. Call that number if you’re interested and we’ll work out the terms.”

Victor studied the card. It was nothing but a white rectangle of thick cardstock with a number and the words Triad Mechanics Division.

“I’ll think ‘bout it.”

“Good. I’ll be in town for three days.” He studied Victor for a moment in silence and then turned on his boot heel and stalked out of the room.

Meara came over to bring him a fresh bottle. “Duty calls?”

“Dunno. He ain’t no mutie-lover.”

She frowned at him. “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“Probly what he was tellin’ ‘isself – had tha classic ‘I need yer skills, but I’d rather see ya swing from a tree’ kinda look ‘bout ‘im.”

“So … maybe that’s one to say no to?”

“Don’t make no diff’rence. I don’t need t’ be liked t’ take a job. If I can fit it in before November, might consider it.” Victor shrugged. “It’s somethin’ t’ do an’ I could use a new distraction.”

She gave him a sad but sweet smile and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I think you need a few weeks to relax on a warm beach somewhere, love.”

~ ~ ~

Victor’s driver Marcus arrived in front of the pub in the 1925 Rolls-Royce Phantom 1 Jonckheere Coupe, a black with red interior beast that looked like nothing else. The hand-fabricated body had round doors, split-opening half-moon windows, twin sunroofs, crazy sloping fat fenders, and a stabilizing fin at the rear. The setup was British, and he’d never bothered about it. If it had an engine, he could make it purr.

Marcus got out of the driver’s door on the right side of the vehicle and nodded to his boss as Victor slid into the seat behind the wheel.

“Was this Lenusya’s idea?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Woman’s got good taste, but it’s a li’l creepy how well she knows me.”

When Marcus was in, Victor drove off too fast, letting the six cylinder, 7.66L OHV inline six engine and four speed manual transmission soothe his mood. He’d never put a CD player in it either, considering it sacrilegious to mar the lines of the original dashboard. The luxurious automobile was quiet enough that you could have a chat at speed. It could easily travel at 100 mph, but he didn’t try to push it on Chicago’s busy streets.

“Gotta take this thing out int’ tha countryside someday, maybe bring Meara along fer a picnic. Got no clue how t’ go ‘bout havin’ a picnic, but a man can learn, huh?”

“Of course, sir.”

“So what’s with ya bein’ clammed up? Somethin’ I oughta know?”

“Madame Beaumarchais came to see you, sir; she’s waiting at the house with Miss Kaminskaya.”

“Hmmm. Blowin’ their ambush, are ya? Good man. Remind me t’ drop ya a bonus fer that shit.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Victor stifled a sigh and tried to sink into the thrill of driving the priceless car. _Ain’t too worried ‘bout Claudette bein’ mad – she’ll get over it once tha check clears._ It was the tedious details of life trying to pull him into another funk – and dealing with people at all. He wasn’t good with people. _Feelin’ tha need fer gettin’ lost in tha trees awhile…_

He passed the front of the house and drove around to the garage to park the Rolls in its usual spot. Claudette’s white Tucker 48 Sedan sat waiting for her not far away, so she wasn’t trying to be a surprise.

_Since she decided t’ drive ‘er birthday present from five years ago, maybe she ain’t mad at all. Tha thing was one o’ fifty-one prototypes ever made an’ cost me over a million – I wonder if tha bill fer my Stark adventure will be as steep? Still gonna be worth it._

Victor tossed the keys to Marcus and went into the house, following the scent of the two women into the backyard. They were sitting with wine glasses in chairs around a patio table where Claudette could see the spa pool inspired by a Faberge egg, and the fountain depicting the four main rivers of France.

“Look, the cat dragged in,” Lenusya announced with a smile.

“Before ya start, Claudette, it was my fault.”

“Eet eez done, Veektor – Lenusya ‘as assured me eet will be settled by tomorrow.”

“Well whatever ya agreed on, it’s fine with me.”

“Won’t you come sit? Zee wine eez lovely.”

“Take my chair, I’m going in,” Lenusya said. “Good night, Claudette.”

“Bonsoir, mon amie.” She watched as Victor sat. “I was upset before, but Morpheus cannot deny you anyzing, and I am no better. I would like to know why you did zis?”

“Took ‘im t’ a hotel, t’ have tha scent o’ who he was playin’ fer me – simple as that.”

She nodded. “As I suspected.”

“It was a rush situation, darlin’ – if I’d waited t’ tell ya what was what, opportunity woulda quit knockin’. I know he’s yer best asset – ya know I wouldn’t let jack happen t’ ‘im.”

“Of course – I am not ‘ere to berate you. Morpheus said you may be leaving soon. You ‘ave a ‘abit of disappearing and not saying adieu, so I came ‘ere to say eet.”

Victor nodded and looked off at the fountain. He never admitted it, but it was a deciding factor in why he’d chosen the house – beside the fact that it was the Gold Coast’s most expensive listing.

“Eet eez so lovely. I need to go to France again. Why do you love eet? I know you do.”

He studied her to avoid thinking about the truth. She wasn’t in one of her crazy French gowns or hairstyles, but dressed as a modern rich woman in an expensive scarlet A-line dress that stopped at the knee and displayed her long pale legs. The red stilettos turned his thoughts away from the fountain in short order as she shifted and recrossed her legs. Her scent had already been driving him into heat the moment he entered the house. Her mood was serious though, not playful, and so he waited.

“Tha noise,” he muttered. “I like hearin’ tha water splash. It moves like a waterfall, not like those pretentious Japanese water picture things Obinata likes so much – those just make me need t’ take a piss.”

“You do tend to collect many fine French treasures, including me. At times, one eez inclined to wonder why.”

“Mysteries make me sexy.” He smirked at her.

“Or eez eet for your Michel Richoux zat you do zis?”

The question wiped the smirk into a frown, but he didn’t feel angry. He was used to her knowing him so well and had trusted her with a lot over the decades. He tried not to dwell on the fact that both she and Lenusya would make terrible enemies. When she leaned closer and touched the back of his hand on the table, he startled, but didn’t growl.

“Sometimes I wish my memory was as fucked up an’ blank slate as tha runt’s.”

“Eez zis why you ‘ave been enamored wit’ Stark all zese years? ‘E reminds you of Michel?”

“Dunno. They weren’t nothin’ alike. Michel was tha smartest man I ever knew ‘til way after he died, an artisan an’ a soldier, so there’s that – but he wanted peace an’ quiet in nature, not tha limelight an’ all eyes on ‘im … simple things, simple pleasures. Stark is … lightnin’ in a jar. Guess if I’m bein’ honest, gotta admit I dunno ‘im that well, no matter how much I stalk ‘im.”

“Do you love zis man?”

“Got no idea what that even is, darlin’, told ya that.” His frown darkened. “Morph better not be spreadin’ tales…”

“You took ‘im to zee ‘otel Stark was in, to ‘is suite – eet eez not ‘ard to sort out. Zis eez not a common zing for you to do.”

Victor swallowed a growl and got up. “Not gonna jaw ‘bout this – I ain’t in a sharin’ mood, doll. Ya stayin’? We can have us a regular sleepover – tha kind where we ain’t gettin’ much sleep.”

“Veektor…” She looked up and held her hand out to him.

He took it and helped her up. As empty pointless gestures went, he knew it made her happy to be treated like a grand lady, and he liked to make her happy – even when she ticked him off.

Claudette slipped her hand around his forearm and let him lead her into his house and upstairs to the master suite. “Do you still ‘ave your gift basket I sent over for zee ‘olidays? Eef we are ‘aving a sleepover, we will need toys.”

“Darlin’ tha collection o’ toys here could be used t’ open a shop, an’ our standin’ agreement still stands – if ya see a limit, feel free t’ give it a solid shove.”

“Good. I am in zee mood to make your blood sing, mon petit minou doux.”

~ ~ ~

She let him lick and touch the stilettos and her ankles only if he stripped for her and then remained on his knees. Then she had changed clothes to almost no clothes, wearing a corset that let her breasts be free to tempt him, a leather rig sporting a wickedly large dildo, and a very different kind of shoes. Claudette moved like a predator on the long black rubber heels in the shape of thick cocks with a steel rod running through them.

Layered into the rest was the enticing smell of her menses. It curled into his senses and peeled back his foreskin the moment she had let her panties drop. One hand held a short leather whip and the sight of it made his dick hard so fast that it hurt.

She sat on the edge of his armchair and lifted one beautiful foot. “Suck.”

Growling, he crawled forward and let her put the dildo heel in his mouth. He sucked them both.

“Turn around and be still.”

Victor got onto his hands and knees and turned his head to look in the giant mirror in the ornate heavy frame against the far wall. Lenusya had told him it was hideous, even while winking at him. It was over two hundred years old, a treasure, and he had told no one of its origin. It allowed him to watch as Claudette aimed one of her heels and then kick-punched it inside his body.

It hurt; it hurt bad enough to make him want to scream. Holding back that scream was a part of his pleasure, and as she began to fuck him with the heel, his cock started to drip. He didn’t ask what the rules were, he knew – they had played this game many times. He wasn’t allowed to speak unless told he could or asked a direct question, and he didn’t have permission to come until told to. She wouldn’t care if the inner beast growled and snarled, but he had to control it, he had to obey.

Then the whip was gently touched to his back, feather-light tip and smooth leather cord length. It was all the warning he would get. The next time he felt it, it stung with a snap. The red mark faded instantly. Another, harder, cut the skin … and then it healed. Adrenaline rushed through him when it struck again and the low buzz of healing helped to fire his senses. He knew she would keep it up until he could almost know what it felt like to be high.

Sometimes he watched in the mirror, other times he closed his eyes. He could smell her blood and he wanted it. The frame of the mirror also bore a faded scent of blood, but he knew that wasn’t in his nose – it was just a delicious memory unlocked by the pain of the whip.

He was left empty for a moment, only to be pierced and fucked by the other heel. It was brutal and he ached for it. They were far smaller than the cock she wore over her sweet scent, and even though he hurt, he wanted that, too.

Left again, he watched her walk across the floor to the doors on the things that had made his body need to heal. The steel tips left a few marks of blood on the wood floor.

“You need more – a witness to watch you crawl.” She opened the doors and let in a man he didn’t even know.

The growl sharpened into a vicious snarl. The man was naked and wore a collar with a short chain attached. He stood there in silence, wide-eyed with shock. He was slender, over fifty, and the small dick was limp. He stared at Victor in horror and obvious disgust as he entered the room.

Ears pinned, eyes narrowing to slits, Victor hissed. His jaw lowered, saliva dripping from the bottom fangs. He began to gather himself in a crouch to jump and kill.

“Stop. Get on your belly, be still and be quiet.”

He snarled again, but obeyed.

“Look at ‘im, so obedient. ‘E eez astounding, no? You may speak freely, Mitchell.”

“All I see is a dirty...” the man hesitated, then at her nod, continued, “a dirty mutie.”

“Yet you like my girls – every one of zem eez a mutant, as am I. Eez zis distaste because my companion eez a man?”

“That’s no man – that is a nasty animal.”

“Zat eez a very powerful being who can ‘ear and understand everyzing you say. Consider carefully what your next words will be.”

The pathetic human reeked of fear, but then it puffed its chest out and stood stiffly, looking him right in the eyes. The challenge was clear.

“Hey – you filthy gene-joke! You’re nothing but a fucking worthless failed science experiment. When this is over, I’ll still be a rich and respected businessman. This woman will probably chain you in her basement like a worthless dog!”

“Oh, I would ‘ave chosen different words.”

Victor’s growl guttered out. Sense memory rose to pollute his mind until all he could smell was leather, dirty cotton, blood, and piss. His rib burned in agony and the pain had made him soil himself. He flushed with a sharp prickling sensation of humiliation skittering over his skin as the man glared. His dusty coveralls were too close – the belt and boots – far too close... Tears spilled down his face, a sob rising that he wouldn’t be able to stop – it might never stop.

With a resurgent snarl, he shook his head violently. It wasn’t real – what stood before him was naked, barefoot, weak... It was meat.

“Veektor, come to me.” She was stroking the heavy thing that hung between her legs.

Hackles rising in a brush of menace, he obeyed and reluctantly began to approach her. He could feel the line between man and beast grow thin and brittle, and struggled to remain in control of it, even while handing over all control to her. She would use her cock, dominate him like a weak bitch, and the puffed-up defiant meat would see it.

“My slave Mitchell eez going to touch you, Veektor. You are not allowed to come. Eef you do, I will order ‘im to be zee one who breeds you next.”

He swung his head back at the tiny human and roared at it. The shuddering creature nearly pissed itself.

“Come ‘ere,” Claudette pointed in front of the armchair.

For a moment, he hesitated. The beast within ached to answer the challenge given by the meat, but the man who fought to remain in control was seething. It was his game she was playing – if she played it better than him, that was hardly a fault of hers.

Growling, he resumed his now rigidly held pose on all-fours as the slave was ordered to sit by his thigh. The moment she pushed her wide cockhead against him, the human sneered at him.

“Is that thing going to turn your pet into a little bitch faggot?”

Victor snarled and moved to swipe at it with claws, but the whip cracked over his broad back and cut him.

“Veektor! Be still.”

The human laughed and stared, sneering, as she shoved the heavy dildo inside him. He had healed already, but abruptly he was barely able to endure it. That hot flush prickled over his skin again and fired a terrible thrumming anger.

“As we discussed, Mitchell – perform your penance, s’il vous plaît. Do zis, and all eez forgiven.”

“This is insane – and gross. I better not catch anything.”

Her trembling slave grasped his leaking cock. A groan escaped Victor’s lips. Letting it hang while being dominated and fucked was bad enough. Having it stroked and pumped was torture, and the touch of a creature he loathed, who saw him as weak and dirty, was almost intolerable. He wanted to crush the human’s skull for even existing in this room, in this safe space.

The hand was strong enough to make him come. He struggled to keep control of his body while the broad rubber cock was fed deeper inside him, stretching him with cruel shoves. When she got the whole ugly thing seated, she started to thrust – and it hurt. It made no sense. This was a favorite tool and she wasn’t strong enough to make it hurt him. It had to be something else – a memory?

Fear stink was layered with disgust beside him. The miasma of it got into his nostrils and mouth, making him want to gag. Victor let his head hang between knotted shoulders, the hackles along his back lifting higher.

“My dear slave, if you can make ‘im come, I won’t let ‘im kill you.”

“You said you could control this … thing.”

All of his claws popped the rest of the way out, curling long and sinking into the finely polished wood floor. His heart was pounding savagely in his chest and he wanted to roar again, he wanted to scream. He wanted to kill.

Pain slowly turned into pleasure as the thrusting rhythm lured him closer to the edge. Almost frantic with fear, the human sucked in a breath and began jacking Victor’s cock hard.

The whip struck and cut his back while the dildo was punching deep again. Pleasure burst without warning and he came. It sprayed his heaving belly and the floor, speckling over the human’s thighs, and over the absurdly small limp dick nestled on those thighs.

“Oh, my…” She yanked out of his body fast, leaving it aching. A slight tinge of blood scent, his own, mixed into the pungent air around him. “I suppose we know what eez next, no?”

Victor snarled and closed his eyes tight. He actually felt a fleeting shame for losing control, a feeling that intensified as he listened to the human get up and move behind him on shaking legs. A scent of silicone confused him for a moment, but he didn’t open his eyes. When the human’s hands touched his ass, he twitched, hissed, and gouged his claws into the floor.

“Disobedience must be punished, Veektor.”

Gritting his teeth, he fought to be still, struggling to control the animal within. A strange ragged pride to not fail again was all that held him.

Then she spoke to the little cowardly human and the words, chosen carefully, but astoundingly insane, shocked him.

“Mount ‘im and breed ‘im, now.”

Something thin and cold touched his healed and tightened anus. His arms and legs began to tremble as the inner beast raged. His skin grew flushed and his jaw dropped, his upper lip lifting in a vicious snarl. The thing popped into him, the thin thighs touching the backs of his, and he lurched violently and roared in hate. He twisted, one large paw full of hooked claws flashing in the low lights. They snagged in flesh and pulled.

The prey that dared to humiliate him was ripped away and slung onto the floor. Its high-pitched mewling scream fired his bloodlust hotter as he leaped and fell over it. The claws dug in, tore open, and rended. He lowered his head, jaw open wide, and let the prey scream down his throat. The fangs set on and punctured the skull. When he bit down, he shook his head and upper body, crushing the skull as he tore the head from the neck. He let it bounce and roll and crouched on the destroyed torso with claws buried in it before he noticed that the female had moved.

She was silent, alluring, as she went to the soft place, dropping the thing she’d used to mate with him on the way. Part of it smelled of blood. She stripped away some sort of covering that banded her body and pulled out a strange red object from inside her before she settled on the softness, feet on the ground, and opened her legs. The scent of heat and blood, different blood, had the power to lure him from his kill. As he half-stalked and half-crawled to the female, she leaned down to touch him when he reached her. He turned his head to let her rub it, let her scratch at the fur of his jaw.

He sniffed at her and pawed at her legs, careful not to scratch her with bloodied claws. She opened to him, to offer it, and the scent of the blood came on stronger. He bent his head and put his tongue to it, to lick and push it inside her.

Slowly, she moved backward and he followed, curling between her legs in the softness. He licked and sucked at the blood until it was gone, and then rose up and batted her to her stomach. He needed to mate again.

She was relaxed and didn’t snarl at him, her heat and posture telling him she was ready to accept him. He sank down into her and thrust, stretching out to set his fangs at the back of her neck, gently, to hold her still.

Pleasure washed through his body, leeching away the rage. He had killed the rival, made it prey, and the female was his. They would sleep, eat the meat, and mate again. He growled over his hold on her when pleasure burst, pleased by her soft cries of heat.

As soon as it was finished, he lay next to her, his side heaving with heavy breaths. She turned her face to his and he licked up the side of her throat. Laying his head down, he relaxed and began to purr before sleep overcame him.

~ ~ ~

Victor woke to find Claudette sleeping peacefully beside him in his huge bed at home. One eyebrow arched as he realized he had been breathing the smell of blood and death. On the floor in the center of his normally orderly suite was a torn up scrawny corpse without a head. Another sniff located the crushed head. The wood floor was clawed up here and there, and one of Claudette’s cincher corsets was lying partly over a leather dildo rig. Blood had leaked from and was now slowly coagulating around the corpse.

Raising a hand and popping claws, he could smell and see remnants of blood on them. “Well somebody had a rough time at tha party.” He nudged his bedmate. “That yers?”

Claudette groaned and buried her face in his hair. “Oui, eet was – but I brought ‘im for you.” She stretched and blinked before looking up at him with warm iridescent lavender eyes. “I like playing wit’ my two-in-one toy. Should I ask eef you enjoyed, or eef you remember?”

“It’s creepin’ back in, but I bet I had fun. I love meat piñatas. He piss ya off, or just drew tha short straw – a client who couldn’t pay, maybe?”

“Zis swine paid to take my Lissette to a party wit’ ‘is partners, as ‘is date only. Zen ‘e drugged ‘er drink, and shared ‘er wit’out asking ‘er permission. I told ‘im ‘e could earn my favor back and I would not call zee police, eef ‘e played slave for a session wit’ anozer client of mine. I promised to take care of ‘im. I did, don’t you zink?”

“Ouch. Handily. Why do I remember bein’ confused ‘bout tha smell o’ silicone?”

Claudette smiled. “Zee coward could not get ‘ard, ‘e was so afraid of you. I put what erection I could get into a ‘ollow silicone dildo.”

Victor tumbled the pieces of memory around in his head until they started to reform. The reemerging picture and emotions stunned him and he had to stifle a growl.

Grateful that she couldn’t read his thoughts, he aimed for blasé and pushed the rest down deep. He retracted his claws to scratch at the dried cum on his abdomen and then stretched, slow and languid, before settling again. The exact instant when her game had tripped him over into the beast within was clear, but the immediate moments after that were nothing but a red haze. He knew one thing – he never wanted to experience that particular kink again.

“Kinda genius pairin’ up humiliation kink with givin’ tha inner beastie somethin’ t’ kill in revenge fer it.”

She smiled and draped herself over him. “I know you, Veektor… You, and ‘im – I love all of you.”

Victor looked across the room at the heavy mirror in its antique carved frame. Shadows lived behind the surface sometimes, memories he couldn’t call up, and some he didn’t want to. This reminded him of those.

 _There was good there too – a woman a lot like Claudette, an’ a man … a man who wanted t’ be treated like that._ The vision of a man crawling to obey turned into a boy with a shock of blonde hair and wide blue eyes full of tears. With a hiss quickly cut short, he looked away, up at the ceiling.

Claudette began to stroke the fur over his chest, her fingers feeling the rapid heartbeat he couldn’t hide. “Per’aps zat eez too elaborate a game, no? Messy, and ‘ard on your poor floors.”

“Whatever ya like, darlin’.”

“Do not worry, mon cher,” she whispered, half sliding into sleep again. “I do know you.”

Victor tried to relax and stroked her hair until her breathing evened out. He wanted to hit the balcony and have a cig, but what he really wanted was to go. He knew changing his scenery wouldn’t guarantee a change of mood – it certainly hadn’t helped for this visit – but it was worth a shot.

He tried to nap to escape his thoughts. Curled up against the woman who had turned him inside out the night before, he was finally able to calm both heartrate and breathing. More sleep sounded good – warm in a bed with a willing naked woman – but the old restless wanderlust was rising. He sighed and reached for his phone on the nightstand. Like it or not, he was awake.

The temptation to try calling Stark came and went without too strong a lure. He felt too raw yet to put up with another flatscan who thought he was garbage. He hit the speed dial for Brys and Perrin instead.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout comin’ up there ‘til tha November job – need some sittin’-under-a-tree time.”

Perrin’s pleased affectionate greeting changed to a softer tone of warning. “Tabitha is here to see Silas. You said she could visit when she wanted and just make arrangements with Brys…”

Victor’s tenuous hold on a relaxed mood slipped away. “Yeah, I did. It’s fine.”

“You could still come out. The house is huge. Or just relax on the property and in the master suite.”

“Not up fer that, boy – ‘er scent would drive me batshit in a bad way. I’m lookin’ fer a more laidback distraction. Keep sendin’ me photos o’ my cub, though. Text ya later when I know where I’m gonna land.”

He hung up before Perrin could reply. Fiddling with the phone, he grunted and dislodged Claudette to snag the card the ex-military fellow had given him. She turned and scooted her back against his to take advantage of his warmth.

 _Triad Mechanics Division – never heard o’ it. There’s lots o’ wilderness, ya know, moron._ He tapped the edge of the card against a thick fang. _Arctic Circle, huh? End o’ September, means polar twilight t’ contend with – but it def ain’t gonna have a ton o’ humans runnin’ ‘round. Sick o’ tha fuckin’ flatscans in general fer a while._

He slipped out of the bed, his free hand tucking Claudette in. Moving around the bloody carnage to sit in the chair at his table, he set the phone and card down and stared at Stark’s cell signal box.

 _Good excuse t’ try out my new toy… ‘Classified’ could imply off-tha-books, an’ that can def be a fun time. Hope it’s a private outfit an’ not some government mess. Über grunt Gorman could be either one._ Growling, Victor picked up his phone and called the number on the card.

Claudette slept through the call. When he hung up, he went to kiss her forehead before heading to the bathroom and dressing room.

He didn’t normally put a lot of thought into packing for jobs; the jets he flew in always had fresh clothes and bath kits. When leaving the jet for more than a day, he had a duffel bag or his backpack and hotels never asked him any questions.

_‘Arctic’ in tha job description changes tha game some, though, an’ since Gorman may or may not be on tha level, I better make sure I got my own resources on hand, too._

~ ~ ~

Lenusya had listened quietly at the breakfast table while Victor was waiting for Zane and Brys to call him back.

“Gorman wants t’ meet in Nunavut, Canada t’ get ‘is team geared up. Triad Mechanics Division is footin’ tha bill fer lotta tha hardware, tents an’ shit. I’ll pack my own supplies on tha sly just in case. I’m gonna bring tha Ugly Pumpkin, too.”

“That truck is at the Yukon estate, are you going to have it shipped?”

“Logistics are Zane’s headache, not mine. Gotta few days t’ sort it all out.”

“So is the northernmost permanently inhabited place in the world, 508 miles from the North Pole, remote enough for you to grab a quick vacation from humanity?”

“Sure, if I don’t trip over any fuckin’ elves. I’ll try not t’ eat Rudolph – Tabitha would be so upset.”

“It’s late September – you wouldn’t see above freezing temperatures unless you went in July or August.”

“That’s what tha gear an’ fancy tents’re fer. Ain’t my timetable, an’ I don’t plan t’ be there that long.”

“Very well, I can tell you’re thrilled. I’d have to be dragged there. Is your danger addict playmate still sleeping?”

“Yup. We made a mess o’ tha toy she brought fer me. Floor’s gonna need a fix, too.” When his phone rang, he grabbed more coffee, kissed her cheek, and walked off. “Hope we didn’t wake ya,” he called behind him, grinning at her chuckle.

He spoke with Zane as he went out the front and down the steps to the Duesenberg. The servants had already packed the cell signal box in a sturdy lined crate and set it in the trunk with his luggage. As he hung up, he climbed into the backseat and got comfortable for the drive to O’Hare.

Marcus glanced in the rearview mirror. “Are you ready to go, Mr. Creed?”

Victor smirked. It had been a long time since the potential uncertainty of a job could make him feel so alert and eager. He almost hoped Gorman and his team would fuck up so he could have some real fun.

_At this point, after foolin’ ‘round with Stark – classic crash an’ burn – rollin’ tha dice with Gorman is def better than playin’ ghost in my own damn house tryin’ not t’ run int’ Tabitha. Time fer some huntin’ an’ gettin’ clear o’ these bloody females an’ white hats fer a bit._

He slipped his phone into the inside breast pocket of his coat with the cigar and sunglasses cases. The shades hanging from his t-shirt were black Ray-Bans – he never risked the Luxuriator pair on a mission.

Patting his jeans pockets for wallet and cigs, he looked out the window at the fancy doors of his house. The glass full of diamond shapes framed by dark wood glittered in the morning sun. Behind those doors was another woman he needed to run from – for a time, at least.

He didn’t even want to admit to himself that last night’s game had disturbed him, and he certainly wasn’t going to admit it to Claudette. Of course, she knew – it wasn’t his floors she wanted to spare next time. The clearer it became in his memory, the less he wanted to think about it. Yet there were clues to his muddled past in there, too.

Victor placed fingers over his ribs – over the one that often felt the strange phantom pain. Echoes haunted him. If he kept very still, he could almost feel himself being held by force on a narrow, tiny bed. The sensations were a mess of confusion and fear. His breath came faster and a disjointed memory of pain rose in his mind. It was so strong that it made him feel it in his body.

For a moment, he couldn’t have named it – and then another piece of the shattered puzzle slid into place and the ghastly agony in his lower back and deep inside him melted into the impossible hurt of Claudette’s huge rubber cock.

His fingers pressed harder against the Adamantium-laced rib that could never be broken, and the pain bloomed. He swallowed a gasp as his nose, his head, was filled with the stench of blood, feces, piss, and broken teeth. Shot through it all was the creeping sharp smell of peppermint laid over the burning taste of bile.

Victor tried to shove it all away. _That li’l bed – no way I’d fit on it._

Allowing the sense memory to shimmer in his mind just to prove that, he abruptly remembered seeing his own fingers grip something tight. The fingertips were moving under the skin, the claws ready to slide free … but the fingers … were tiny … as they gripped a thin pillow and a brightly-colored stick of candy. The pain exploded, the shattered candy cutting into his palm – until the cuts slowly healed. A new scent burst in his head, confusing him, though he knew very well what it was. Nausea rose to be instantly wiped away and after a breathless moment, the hideous phantom senses faded, as did the smell of a man’s sweat and cum, and the pounding of another heart over his small and broken body.

Nearly falling into a panic, he fled from it all in his head. The first brutal memory he stumbled over, some nameless hooker in a Saigon alley during the Vietnam War, gave him something to retreat into. Blood on claws, a sharp scream cut short, and the woman’s death washed over him like a balm.

Voices spoke through the tumultuous thoughts, a grab bag of enemies and weak frightened sheep: _Apex predator … one of the most dangerous mutants alive … how can you allow that thing to exist … I came home and he was eating him, my husband, he was still alive…_ The cold blue eyes of the hated telepath had turned away – downcast, as anxiety born of his failure filled his scent. Victor could feel the way out, and he tore his claws through the ninja X-Man’s slender body to reach it. When the slick feel of her guts passed under his fingers, he escaped … and the horrid miasma of the waking nightmare faded away.

Victor returned to himself with claws sunk into the flesh of his thighs. He didn’t look up at the driver. Drawing them out with care, he retracted them and sat still. Lifting his wrist, he pulled back the sleeve of the black coat and sniffed at Stark’s scent, breathing it in to calm himself as his wounds healed. Only the tell-tale red edges of cut denim were left.

“Mr. Creed?”

Marcus had seen these fits before and knew better than to comment. His hands were holding tight onto the wheel, eyes straight ahead.

It was time to go. “Yup – more’n ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shaking his head, he growled low and grabbed his sunglasses, slipping them on with a disdainful sniff. _Fuck that shit, all o’ it – ain’t got time fer bloody ghosts._

He looked down at the savage beast logo on his black Mötorhead t-shirt. He could feel the restlessness of the feral animal within – wanting out, wanting blood. It made it easier to turn his back on all that had happened in the Windy City, good and bad.

_Ready fer snow, fer emptiness, an’ critters bigger’n me that I can tussle with._

Just for fun, he’d packed his favorite coat, since it was far too warm for most of America. It had been made with what was left from the huge white blanket fur he kept at the Selwyn Mountains house in the Yukon.

_Arctic Circle oughta be cold ‘nuff fer wearin’ a wendigo pelt. Gonna make all tha other shiverin’ grunts jealous._

Victor put his elbow up on the armrest and caught another whiff of Stark’s scent. It had given comfort moments before, but as the mess and failure of his chance at getting closer crowded into his heart, the spell of it was broken. He frowned and dropped his wrist into his lap.

Giving up on Stark was probably the most sensible thing to do, but if he did, worse phantoms and shattered hopes would crowd in again.

_Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout flyboy – sooner or later gonna find ‘nother bit o’ ‘is wayward tech an’ then we’ll see how long he ignores me. Or I could just break my toaster an’ call in one o’ those favors._

Victor placed his fingertips on the window and watched the city stream by. The claws slid out until they tapped on the glass and then stopped. He would allow Chicago to catch its breath, let the pathetic human prey settle and forget.

Under the tips of his claws, he stared at houses, cars, people … as the low eternal thrum and beat of their vast blood song lulled the hunter within into a quiet and patient stillness.

**FINI.**

(Sabretooth will return in _Cutting Edge_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the details for the Rolls Royce from Jalopnik.com. Victor’s sexual exploits with Morph-Stark were abbreviated on purpose, because they will be detailed in the sequel, part 4 of my series, with the real Tony Stark. The French: “Bonsoir, mon amie” means “Good evening, my friend” (to a woman). “Mon petit minou doux” means “my sweet little kitty”. Most people know this, but “s’il vous plaît” means “please”. The poem Morpheus recites and Victor attributes to Claudette was written by me.
> 
> The hunt Victor went on to kill and skin a wendigo happens in the Sabretooth limited edition story, Open Season written by Daniel Way. The first issue of four came out in December 2004, but I’m ignoring where it might fit chronologically in Marvel’s timeline. Since Victor spends the whole adventure in his “fur-trimmed union suit” as the character Birdy dubbed his supervillain costume, I’m going to place that story at the tail end of Victor’s last round of adventuring in a costume, which happens prior to the Mary Shelley Overdrive comics. Basically, even though this story and the sequel are set in late September/early October of 2003, I just wanted Victor to have his wendigo fur coat in part 4, "Cutting Edge". Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm  (@MET_Fic)


End file.
